


Vertigo

by ljummen (Vendelin)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Breaker Sidney Crosby, Demon Deals, Dreams and Nightmares, Finding humanity, Fingering, I don't know what else to call them tbh, Light Angst, M/M, Memory loss (in a sense I guess), Not Hockey Players (Hockey RPF), Penguins Captain Evgeni Malkin, Rimming, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/ljummen
Summary: “I thought we’d lost you,” Gonch says in Russian and then helps Geno drink some water.“How long was I out?” Geno asks.“Three days.” Gonch shakes his head. “We had to put you on an IV.”Geno’s stomach drops. Three days. His gaze slides over to the man from his memories. He’s dressed in all black in reality too, his dark hair falling over his forehead in soft curls. He’s shorter than all of them, but broad and sturdy-looking. A second later he looks up, his gaze boring into Geno’s head the way it had in his dream.“And who is he?” Geno asks Gonch, unable to break their eye contact.“He’s Sid. A Breaker.”When Geno starts slipping, losing his footing in reality and risks losing his life, he’s desperate for help. Sid, who may or may not be entirely human, is his best shot.





	Vertigo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/gifts).

> Thank you to everyone who helped make this happen. I'll tag you guys here as soon as the authors are revealed. 
> 
> Eafay70: I really hope you'll enjoy this. I know you gave a bunch of prompts in your own fic 'verses, but I didn't feel comfortable writing that, as they're your creation. I took a tiny bit of one of your prompts, tweaked it heavily and tried to fit your likes in there. I hope this is something you'll end up liking.

There are shadows around him, stretching up against the ceiling. Geno glances over his shoulder, but he’s alone. He knows this place; the bare walls with the peach paint flaking up towards the ceiling, the linoleum floors with permanent dents after heavy furniture, the avocado green stove in the kitchen that can’t operate both the plates and the oven at the same time. He knows the two rooms; one has a ratty couch that folds out into a bed, and the other—the smaller of the two—hosts two mismatched beds and hockey posters on the walls. He knows the damp, musty smell of an old water damage. 

“Zhenya.” 

He turns around again and this time he isn’t alone. There’s a figure at the end of the hallway, body crooked and bent with age. He can’t make out the face from the shadows, but he knows that voice in his heart. 

“Babulya.” 

She takes a step towards him, but the walls are starting to melt away. 

“No!” Geno tries to move forward to get to her. Before he can get there everything turns foggy and grey, and loud voices make him put his hands over his ears. 

“He’s coming back,” an unfamiliar voice says. “He should open his eyes any moment now.” 

Blinking his eyes open, Zhenya is blinded by the light. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and then make out the chandelier in his bedroom ceiling. The voices are still there, whispering now, but someone’s holding his hand.

Lifting his head from the pillow, he spots Mario, Gonch and Sully standing close together at the foot of the bed, watching him with concern. Sitting on the edge of the bed is a man that Geno doesn’t recognize. He’s tall and so skinny that his bones seem to cut through his skin, with pale eyes and a shaved head. He’s wearing a row of necklaces under his open fur coat, matching the several earrings in each of his ears. His eyebrows are either shaved off or simply don’t exist. 

“What,” Geno manages, pulling his hand free. 

“Geno,” Mario says and they move closer to the bed. “Are you—”

“Are you back?” Gonch interrupts. “You’ve been gone for eight hours.”

_ Gone? _ Geno thinks. _ I’ve been right here all along. _

His confusion must show because the tall, skinny man clears his throat. “They were worried when you did not wake up this morning.” 

“What’s time?” He’s groggy as he fights himself upright, sitting back against the headboard. It’s no worse than when he’s slept for too long, but his body is a bit off. Weak. A vague sense of nausea under the surface. 

“It’s four p.m.,” Sully says. “We were worried when you didn’t show up for practice this morning. Your housekeeper was hysterical, she couldn’t wake you.” 

“Am awake now,” Geno protests. 

“Not without help,” Mario explains and gestures towards the strange man. “Zdeno brought you back to us.”

Frowning, Geno looks between them. “What you mean?” 

“The spirit world is drawing you in,” Zdeno explains and stands. His clothes are ridiculous, jewelry clinking with his every move, and he’s unnaturally tall standing up—almost as if he’s been stretched out. 

Geno scoffs, expecting the rest of them to do the same, but Gonch’s frown deepens. 

“This is serious,” he says. “What did you do?”

“Not do anything.” Geno clasps his hands and then unclasps them immediately. 

“No deals, no agreements?” Sully presses. “No promises?”

“With other team?” Geno asks. 

“With a spirit; a ghost, a demon, anything that doesn’t belong in this world,” Zdeno explains. “The hold on you is so strong it can’t be simply coincidental.” 

_ This must be a joke, _Geno tells himself. _ They’re going to start laughing at any moment now. _

They don’t laugh and a new sense of dread creeps up his spine. 

“It doesn’t happen often,” Mario explains. “But the league has seen it before.”

“It’s often players who have wanted to improve their game.” 

“You not think I can play good without _ spirit_?” Geno bristles. 

Gonch sighs and gestures for Mario and Sully to leave the room. Zdeno trails after them, his jewelry clinking. 

“This is serious,” Gonch says for the second time and switches to Russian. “If you don’t break this you risk getting stuck in there forever. Have you made any deals or offerings? Consciously or not?” 

“How am I supposed to know if I’ve made anything subconsciously?” Geno asks. “I don’t think I have.”

“Have you been slipping before?” Gonch asks. “Slept in longer than you thought? Slept through alarms? Unexpected naps?” 

Well… he’s been tired as of late, or so he thought. He’s slept more often and for longer than he has since he was a teenager, but he figured it’s because he’s been tearing it up on the ice, pushing himself. 

“I think so,” Geno says and his skin pebbles. “I just thought I was tired from playing hard.” 

“When did it start?” 

The first time he slept through an alarm was the week before training camp started. He’d missed a gym session with his trainer. “Before camp.” 

Gonch lets out a breath. “It’s late September now.” 

“Yes?” 

“Zhenya, this isn’t good.” Gonch rubs a hand over his face and clenches his other hand into a fist. “Why haven’t you said anything sooner?” 

“I didn’t know!” 

“Can you remember _ anything _ you’ve done before camp that could _ possibly _ count as some kind of agreement or offering?” 

Wracking his brain, Geno goes over August, where he left Russia to come back to Pittsburgh after the summer, newly divorced and determined to make this season better. In July. Oh. _ July_. He’d been in a dark place then, their divorce having just been finalized and hockey all he’d had left. They hadn’t lived together for over eight months at the time, but receiving the papers had felt like a slap in the face. It was a hazy night, but Geno remembers being in a wine cellar to a restaurant. He’d gotten lost after a bathroom break and turned left where he should’ve turned right. Something down there had been soothing, a balm on his wounded heart, and he’d stayed. He’d been sure the silence down there had asked him how he could turn this around and he had promised that as long as he could have a great season, he would do anything. 

“Well, perhaps,” Geno says. “It’s a long story.” 

“I’ve got time.” Gonch sits down and nods. 

+

Before Zdeno leaves, he walks through Geno’s bedroom and places rocks of different colors all over the area. 

“It’s to block you from the spirit world,” he explains. “It should keep you safe.” 

It does. For a while. 

The next time Geno slips is a little over two weeks later. He goes to bed for his pre-game nap and wakes up twenty-three hours later to a man in leather and a fur-lined Mertsi hat. He’s younger than the last one, with a rectangular face, close-set blue eyes and white-blond hair. 

Geno doesn’t understand what he says, but he can recognize Finnish when he hears it and the man is bent over him, dousing him repeatedly in some kind of liquid that makes Geno’s eyes water and his throat burn. 

“Stop,” he manages and Gonch shows up next to the man, pushing him away.

“Are you back?”

Nodding, Geno tries to sit up, but his body won’t let him. “How long I’m gone?”

“Almost twenty-four hours.” 

“You’re on injured reserve,” Sully says and emerges from out of Geno’s line of sight. “We need to sort this out. Can you break this, Laine?” 

He says the last part to the Finnish man who’s now flushed and his brow beading with sweat. 

“Yes,” he says, accent heavier than Geno’s own. “It is for a price.” 

An hour later, Geno’s home smells so strongly of burnt myrrh and sage that his head aches. Laine completed a ritual too complex for any of them to follow involving a crystal ball and a dead rabbit, but when he leaves, he proclaims that Geno is now free from whatever connection he has to the spirit world. 

+

Geno looks around the room. It smells of stale sweat, clogged drains and heavily scented shower gel. There are markings on the walls; some from old age and wear, some from penned statements in Cyrillic. The wooden benches are old, unstable and threaten to collapse if you sit down on them with too much force, and the water pressure in the showers is terrible. 

There’s a familiar jersey hanging on one of the hooks and worn skates too small for his grown feet. 

He knows this place. 

His steps echo around in a strange, muffled way they shouldn’t in an empty, tiled room. There are familiar letters on the back of the jersey: Ма́лкин. He frowns. At such a young age the jerseys never displayed their names. He was lucky if he could even get the same number every game. 

The faint sound of someone laughing behind him has him whipping around. There’s no one there but the hairs on his neck stand up and his skin crawls with unease. He scans the room again, but not even the markings on the walls are visible anymore. 

Swallowing, Geno turns towards his jersey again and reaches out. Just before his fingers make contact with the fabric, a clear voice behind him says,

“Don’t touch it.” 

Whirling around again, Geno is suddenly face to face with a stranger. Compared to the rest of the room, he’s vivid and sharp around the edges, dressed in all black and with big, intense eyes. 

“Don’t touch anything,” he says then, stepping closer. “It’s luring you in.”

Geno shivers against his will and the air in the room is colder now. 

“Who are you?” he asks in Russian, despite the man speaking English to him. 

“I don’t understand Russian,” the man says. “We need to go.”

“I don’t know you,” Geno says in English this time. “How I know you not the one lure me in?” 

The man tilts his head to the side, watching him. “You don’t.” 

“So why I go with you?”

“Because you know you don’t belong here. You can sense that there’s something wrong. You’ve been visiting places before. You know them, but you can also tell there’s something wrong with them.” The man takes a step back and Geno follows him without thinking. “My name is Sid. I’ve been asked to collect you. You’ve been stuck here for too long and this is your last chance of getting out.” 

“How I know?”

“I think you do,” Sid says. “I think you can still sense that. You might not for very much longer.” 

Geno hesitates. The name on his jersey isn’t right, he knows that. But what if Sid isn’t either?

“Let’s go,” Sid says, his tone sharper now, and offers his hand. “Your friend Sergei Gonchar is waiting for you.” 

That seals the deal. Geno grasps Sid’s hand and the strength of his responding grip is a surprise. The bones in his fingers threaten to snap and he shouts in pain, but Sid doesn’t let go. The room around him melts away and the next thing he knows, he opens his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom. 

The pain in his hand grows stronger with every passing second, but when Geno tries to groan, his throat is too dry to make any sound. 

“He’s in pain,” a now-familiar voice says and a second later the grip around his hand loosens. “Make sure to have a doctor check his hand. Don’t allow them to give him anything for the pain, or something that can help him with sleep. The pain is good right now, it keeps him here.” 

Then Gonch’s face comes into view and he’s pale with dark circles under his eyes, his gaze flittering over Geno’s face. 

“I thought we’d lost you,” he says in Russian and then helps Geno drink some water. 

“How long was I out?” Geno asks. 

“Three days.” Gonch shakes his head. “We had to put you on an IV.” 

Geno’s stomach drops. _ Three days_. His gaze slides over to the man from his memories. He’s dressed in all black in reality too, his dark hair falling over his forehead in soft curls. He’s shorter than all of them, but broad and sturdy-looking. A second later he looks up, his gaze boring into Geno’s head the way it had in his dream. 

“And who is he?” Geno asks Gonch, unable to break their eye contact. 

“He’s Sid. A Breaker.” 

“A what?”

Gonch sighs. “According to him, the people who tried to help you before are charlatans. We contacted him early in the process but ruled him out, because he wouldn’t name a price. He claimed that he couldn’t do that until afterwards. This time, we didn’t have a choice.”

Sid breaks their eye contact then and talks to Mario in a language Geno doesn’t know. French maybe. It sounds like when Tanger and Flower talk to each other.

“He needed three days?” Geno asks.

“According to him, he had to find you first.”

Geno hesitates. “What does that mean?”

“You have to ask him.” Gonch sighs. “For what it’s worth, I do think he’s the real deal.”

“I saw him,” Geno says. “He was there with me. That never happened with the others.” 

Before Gonch has a chance to reply, Sully speaks up, “What’s the plan going forward? When can Geno play again?”

Sid looks at him for a long time, his gaze so intense that Geno is impressed that Sully doesn’t apologize for talking. “I can’t tell you that. He could slip again tomorrow.”

“What you need for help me?” Geno manages. 

Sid’s gaze slides over to him and his eyes are darker now. It can’t only be the lighting. “It’s not a simple thing to explain.” 

Geno frowns at him. He’s not stupid. “I think I can handle.” 

Unblinking, Sid steps closer and something about him makes Geno want to shy away. He resists, staring back at Sid with the same determination he would at a faceoff when there’s twenty seconds left on the clock in OT. 

“I don’t know what you did,” Sid says. “But whatever it is, it’s gotten a hold of you. It’s pulling you in. You’re slipping, which means that something is pulling your subconscious further from your world, and deeper in to the other side. It’s not a place for someone like you.” 

Geno wants to ask, but he can sense that Sid isn’t finished talking. 

“Slipping means that the connection between whatever it is that’s pulling on you is growing stronger than the connection that’s keeping you here, where you belong.” Sid’s dark eyes, still without blinking, dig into him, nailing him back against the pillows and makes his skin crawl. There’s an energy oozing from him that’s not entirely human. 

While Sid is, indeed, shorter than all of them, he’s right now the largest presence in the room. Even Sully, who’s used to leading a group of eccentric hockey players, seems to step back. Geno refuses to be scared of him. 

“I ask,” he says again, “what you need for help me?”

“The connection between you and me must become stronger for me to be able to break the other connection.”

“How we make it stronger?”

Sid’s dark eyes shine. “An easy solution would be sex. However, I wouldn’t ask that of you, so if you truly want my help, you will have to let me in.” 

“Let you in?” Mario asks. 

“Into his house, into his mind.” Sid gestures with his hand around the room. “I have to be around you at all times. If you slip, I can bring you back more easily when I can get to you faster.” 

“How long before he plays?” Sully asks. 

Sid gives him a cool stare. “He can play when I tell you he’s ready to play.” 

There’s no room for discussion there and Geno can’t help but be impressed by how easily the rest of them back down at Sid’s words. They’re all people who are used to getting their way and here’s this stranger letting them know that they have no power to claim here. 

Gonch turns to him then and Geno knows him well enough to tell that he’s worried. “You’re going to let a stranger move in with you?” 

“What choice do I have?” 

“I...I don’t know.” 

Geno looks over at Sid. He’s unnaturally still, watching them both with his dark eyes. 

“I have to do this,” Geno says and turns back to Gonch again. “I have to give it a shot. Nothing else has worked and—” he takes a slow breath “—honestly, what do I have left to lose?” 

“Check in with me once a day. If I haven’t heard from you, I’m coming over.” Gonch turns to Sid then and switches to English. “If I haven’t heard from him by eight every evening, I’ll check in.”

Sid looks at him for so long that Geno doesn’t expect him to say anything, but then he nods just once. 

“I will not stop you.” 

“If you harm him—” Gonch starts and Geno shivers as Sid’s eyes grow darker. 

“I’m not the one seeking to harm him.” 

Sid’s tone makes it final and the clench of worry, deep in Geno’s gut, tightens. _ Perhaps this is the last chance. _

“You can move in,” he says to Sid. “For how long you need. Make me okay again.” 

“I’m not promising anything,” Sid warns. 

“I only ask you try,” Geno says. “Is my whole life.” 

This time, when Sid watches him in his silent way, it doesn’t come off as a predator watching its prey. His gaze is softer somehow, but still unnervingly dark. 

“I will try,” he acknowledges. 

“Thank you.”

“I need to leave and come back within two hours. I expect you to make sure Evgeni doesn’t fall asleep while I’m away.” He turns around Geno’s bedroom with a disgusted look on his face. “In the meantime, you can throw all of this away.” 

At first, Geno doesn’t understand what he’s referring to, but then Sid picks up one of the crystals that circle the bed and drops it on the mattress.

“It’s for protect,” Geno protests.

“It doesn’t do shit,” Sid says. “Except for, perhaps, injuring your feet if you accidentally step on them.” 

Sid disappears out of the room together with Mario and Geno is left with the rest of them. They’re all solemn with weary eyes. 

“I’m not dying,” he says just to break the silence. “Sid help me, I know.” 

“I hope so,” Gonch says and shakes his head. “He creeps me out.” 

“Yes,” Geno agrees, because he feels it too. “But he save me today.” 

Flexing his fingers, they still ache as if to remind him about how Sid pulled him, perhaps quite literally, back to his own bed. 

“I’ll make sure someone comes by to look at your hand,” Sully says. “Can’t have your hand stopping you from playing as soon as we’ve got this situation under control.” 

It’s two hours later on the dot when Sid shows up again. He doesn’t ring the bell, and suddenly he’s just standing there in the doorway to Geno’s bedroom with a small duffel bag in his hand. 

“I see you plan for long stay,” Geno says and tries to smile. 

Sid doesn’t seem to catch his joke. Instead he puts his bag down and walks over to the bed, ignoring Gonch where he’s standing by the window. 

“I want you to go shower and in the meantime I will change the sheets and pick out clothes for you to wear.” 

“I need special clothes?”

“Yes,” Sid says. “Mine.” 

“What?”

“It’s a good, easy way to establish connection.” Sid offers him a hand and helps him out of bed. His grip is just as strong as in Geno’s dream, but this time he doesn’t threaten to break any fingers. 

A while later, Geno sits at his kitchen counter eating reheated borscht, wearing a t-shirt and hoodie with an unfamiliar scent. He’s only dated women before, even if he’s slept with many men, and wearing someone else’s clothes is new. Next to him with an untouched glass of water in front of him sits Sid, wearing the same clothes Geno wore during his three day slip. The sleeves are too long and the shoulders too tight, but Sid doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Where did you go?” he asks suddenly. 

“What you mean?”

“When you slipped, where did you go?” 

Keeping the spoon in his mouth for a moment, Geno watches him. “I go to my old locker room in Magnitogorsk.” 

“From when you were a child?” Sid asks. 

“Yes. Is my first team as kid. It’s old building, not great shape.” He shrugs. “Is like most of Magnitogorsk.”

“Have you gone there before when you’ve slipped?”

“I don’t think.” He tries to think back on the other times, but he only remembers the very first. “I also go to apartment I live in with my family. My Babulya is there, my grandmother. She say my name.” 

Thinking about it now, he can hear her voice as though she’s here in the kitchen with them. 

“Evgeni.” Sid’s voice is sharp. “Don’t go there.” 

Blinking, he finds Sid leaning towards him, his shoulders tense. “Go where?”

“Where you just went, searching in your dreams. They might seem like memories to you, but they’re not. It’s a trick.” 

Geno shivers. “You call me Geno.” 

“Is that the name closest to you?” 

For a long while he was Zhenya, but he’s lived in Pittsburgh for almost all of his adult life and it’s shaped him into the person he is. Except for his family, no one calls him that anymore. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

The day seems week-long. The team doctor drops by to check his hand a few hours later, but all Geno does is eat and try to get used to having Sid in his space. It’s difficult since Sid is simply _ there._ He doesn’t ask much and other than that, doesn’t say anything. 

“You want dinner?” Geno asks as he opens the fridge that evening. 

“No,” Sid says. 

Shrugging to himself, Geno makes omelettes and wolfs them down while Sid sits next to him, his glass of water still untouched. 

He manages to postpone going to bed until it’s almost midnight. Sid doesn’t seem tired at all, sitting up as straight and alert as he’s done all day. It’s strange. Geno, however, has been fighting sleep for the better part of an hour now. 

“I need sleep,” he states finally. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” 

He’s brushed his teeth and decided to keep Sid’s shirt on—to support connection and all that—when he exits the master bath and stops dead in his tracks. Sid is sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned towards him, and he’s completely nude. His back and shoulders are riddled in tattoos, symbols that Geno can’t decipher weave patterns across his skin. They’re somehow both beautiful and terrifying. 

“You should get undressed,” Sid says as if sensing Geno’s stare. 

“Why?” he manages. “Why you naked in my bed?”

Sid looks over at him then, eyes big and maybe wondering, as if Geno’s question doesn’t make sense to him. 

“You slip when you sleep,” he says. “I need to be close to you and the less we have between us, the safer it is.” 

“Is weird,” Geno points out. 

“I figured nudity wouldn’t be a big deal to you,” Sid says. “Being a hockey player and all.” 

“You naked stranger in my bed.”

“For some reason, I suspect you’ve had your fair share of those as well.” 

For a second, Geno thinks Sid smirks, but it’s gone before he can be sure. “Now you smart-ass too.” 

It’s true, though. What makes this any weirder than the men and women Geno has slept with before? He can’t even name some of them. 

Sid watches him shamelessly as he undresses. There’s nothing sexual about it, but rather reminds Geno of when his skating coach evaluates him. 

Something that is new to Geno, however, is crawling into bed with someone he doesn’t know, in a simply platonic way. There’s no feverish kissing or touching, or drunken laughing here. Sid gets under the covers next to him, and then there’s the two of them sharing a duvet as though they’re a couple. 

“What happen when I sleep?”

“Hopefully that’s all there is,” Sid says. 

_ That sounds ominous. _

“Okay.” 

“I have to be touching you,” Sid says and then his hand curls around Geno’s wrist under the covers. “It’s easier to sense you slipping this way.” 

“You promise me you pull me out if I do?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Sid says, just like earlier which isn’t at all what Geno wants to hear right now. 

“Okay.” 

“I will do my best,” Sid says then. “I don’t think it’ll take me three days to find you again.” 

Geno looks over at him then. “Can you tell me why it take three days?”

Sid’s eyes are strangely bright in the darkness, the exact opposite of what they should be, Geno figures. “No one could tell me where to start. No one seemed to know where you’d gone those other times, and that’s the first thing a Breaker should ask you. Those charlatans just wanted money.” Sid’s tone is heavy with disgust. “I had to go through a lot of things. Your divorce, your escape to America, your injuries and played games.”

“Is a lot for go through,” Geno says. The idea of Sid poking through his divorce as though looking for bones in a fish is off-putting. 

“I’m sorry I had to violate your privacy.” Sid pauses. “I don’t make an opinion of what I see. I simply see it.”

“I understand you have to,” Geno says. “Still make me feel like you know my brain maybe better than me.” 

“That’s possible,” Sid says. “But in the most unimportant of ways.”

“What you mean?”

“It’s maybe a bit like being able to tell you exactly how many protons, neutrons and electrons there are in a specific atom, but knowing next to nothing what that atom’s properties actually are.”

Taking a moment to mull that over, it doesn’t seem so odd. Sid doesn’t come off as a person who tries to make others feel better just because. 

“You strange,” he says instead. 

“I know,” Sid says simply. 

With a stranger in his bed, Geno expects to need a long time to fall asleep, but he barely has time to close his eyes and wonder how long it’s going to take him to relax enough to drift off, when he’s out. 

His dreams are odd, lucid, but slipping between his fingers whenever he tries to grasp them. Sid’s voice from earlier echoes through his mind several times _ Don’t go there, Geno._ Every time he says it, the dreams move further out of his reach. 

When he wakes, it’s early enough for the light in the room to be pale and grey. Looking around the room, he makes sure everything is the same from yesterday. 

_ How can I tell if this is a trick, too? _ Geno asks himself. Everything looks as he remembers it and a second later, movement next to him forces him fully awake. 

“How are you this morning?” Sid asks and when Geno looks over at him, he’s sitting up against the headboard, sheets pooling over his lap and his hand resting on Geno’s upper arm. 

“I have weird dream,” he says and yawns. 

“I’m not so sure I would call them dreams,” Sid says, his tone matter-of-fact. 

Squinting up at him, Geno can make out the serious set of his features. His eyes are bright again, almost shining in the dim morning light. “What you mean?” 

“I didn’t have to pull you out, but I had to stop you from getting drawn in.” Sid shifts, pulling his hand back. “Your mind is too curious and something wants you very badly. It’s not a good combination.” 

“Good for them,” Geno says with a cold shiver running down his spine. “Not for me or you.”

“True.” Sid looks down on him and the luminous glow to his eyes seems to dim. “It was manageable.”

+

Over the next two weeks, Geno learns to live with Sid as his shadow. He’s everywhere but also _ barely _ in a way he isn’t used to with other people. He doesn’t ask much, he doesn’t seem to eat, he never drinks, and Geno isn’t sure he even sleeps. 

He isn’t kind, but he isn’t mean either. He just..._ is_. 

Every night, after checking in with Gonch as promised, Geno goes to sleep with him and the not-dreams seem to fade in both intensity and frequency. He has a new sense of Sid’s presence in his mind, which makes sense in a way, he figures. 

Being at home, though, is driving him up the wall in boredom. 

“I need practice,” he tells Sid one morning while preparing his eggs. 

Sid doesn’t turn from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island with his back towards him. “Why?”

“I need keep in shape.” He’s used his home gym to an extent, but he needs a trainer and he desperately wants to get out of this house. 

“No skating,” Sid says. 

Geno frowns. “Why?”

“You’d be too far away. Our connection isn’t strong enough.”

“You can skate too,” he mutters under his breath. 

Sid is quiet for a second. “I don’t remember how.” 

Pausing, Geno glances over his shoulder, but Sid is still turned the other way. His posture hasn’t changed, but it’s not like him to admit to something like that. _ What does it even mean? _

“Gym is okay?” he asks instead of all his other questions regarding Sid’s forgotten skating abilities. 

“I will allow it.” 

“Not need your permission,” Geno protests, annoyance boiling under his skin. “You not my boss.” 

He can sense Sid moving behind him and the same kind of dark energy he felt the first time they met, oozes around them both. 

“But you need _ me_.”

Geno opens his mouth to snap at him, but Sid is right. Clenching his jaw, he concentrates on his breakfast and sends a text to Sully, asking for a gym schedule ASAP. 

He mostly ignores Sid during his first session. He stands by the wall, moving around whenever Geno switches exercise, and watches with dark, intense eyes. At first, Geno wants to ask him to turn around, desperate for some space, but the harder he pushes himself, the more his irritation wears off. 

He forgets that Sid is even there until he’s catching his breath, lying down on the floor after finishing his last exercise, and Sid says,

“Give me your shirt.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

_ “Why?” _ He tugs at it to show that it’s damp from sweat. “Smell bad soon.”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

He sighs as loud as he can to make sure that Sid knows he’s being a pain the ass, and tugs the shirt over his head before he throws it in Sid’s general direction. He’s not exactly surprised when Sid pulls off his own shirt and exchanges it for Geno’s sweaty one. 

“Gross,” Geno tells him. 

Sid shrugs. “It’s good for connection.”

\+ 

“When is the next game?” Sid asks him over breakfast one morning.

Wracking his brain, Geno tries to remember the Penguins’ schedule and what day it is. He’s been living gym appointment to gym appointment for a while, always with Sid being there. “I think tomorrow.”

“I’d like for us to watch it.” 

Geno looks up in surprise. “You want?”

“We’ve established a reliable connection here, but if you want to play again we also need it to be working when there are other people around and in places where there are distractions. Such as hockey.” 

“We watch in box,” Geno says. “Okay?”

“Yes.” 

They get to the arena some time before the game the following evening to avoid the biggest crowds. The last thing he wants is for Sid to get attention and for media to get a whiff of what’s truly going on. While Geno’s mind being pulled away from him surely counts as some kind of injury, it’s better if they think he’s rehabbing his shoulder. 

“It’s very big,” Sid says behind him as they take their seats. Other people will be joining them soon; players on injured reserve and healthy scratches.

“Almost twenty-thousand seat,” Geno says, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

“There’s a lot of emotion in here,” Sid says and rests his elbows on the counter in front of him, looking out over the ice. 

“You can tell?”

“Yes.” Sid’s gaze slides over to him momentarily, and then back. “It’s everywhere. I’m sure you feel it too when you step out on the ice before a game. It’s almost charged.”

It’s true. How many times has he stepped out on the ice before an important game with goosebumps spreading over his skin? Or the hair at his neck standing on end? He’s always loved the atmosphere in here, but perhaps there’s more to it than he thought. 

“Maybe you right,” he says eventually. 

“I know.” 

His teammates greet him with hugs and back-thumps, but they all quiet down when they spot Sid. It’s a pattern that repeats itself every time someone new joins them in the box. At first there’s Hags and his broken ankle, then there’s Guddy and his concussion, and lastly a couple of rookies from Wilkes-Barre. 

Sid doesn’t seem to notice. He nods his greeting to them and turns back to watch the arena as the seats slowly fill with people. 

“Look at them,” Sid says to Geno when he takes his empty seat again. “It’s fascinating.”

“Why?”

“They’re so happy.” 

Geno frowns. “Yes?”

Sid glances over for a second, a gesture that’s very unlike him. “I can’t remember what that’s like.” 

Geno stills and he knows the surprise is obvious on his face. “You never happy?”

Before Sid can reply, the national anthem starts and Sid leans closer to the box glass on his elbows. 

Geno can’t help but watch Sid more than the game itself; how he clenches his fists when the Pens are close to scoring, how he rubs a hand over his eyes when someone gets a penalty, how he closes his eyes for a second when the Caps score. In the first intermission, he glances at Geno’s drink and hesitates. 

“Can I have some?” 

“Is just water with bubbles.”

“Okay,” Sid says and takes the glass from his hand, downing half of it in one go. He puts it back in the same spot, and Geno runs his thumb where Sid’s lips touched the rim. He’s awfully beautiful, otherworldly and strange at times, but he seems so human now; licking his lips and watching with rapt interest as the game starts up again. 

_ “An easy solution would be sex,” _ Sid had said the first time they met. _ “I wouldn’t ask that of you.” _

If he _ did _ ask, though, would Geno say yes? He watches as Sid grins, wide and delighted, as the Pens score. 

_ Yes_, Geno thinks to himself. _ Yes, I would. _

In the car on their way home, Sid is quiet per usual, but there’s something softer around him than before the game. 

“You like?” Geno asks and out of the corner of his eye he can see Sid turn towards him.

“What?” 

“You like the game?”

Sid is silent for several long seconds, before he says, “Yes. Yes I did.” 

They keep going to the home games after that. Before the fourth game, Sid looks around the box and then at Geno. 

“I’d like a drink.” 

He’s stolen sips from Geno’s glass every game since they started going, around the third period. Always just once and always after some hesitation. He never eats or drinks anywhere else, so Geno’s always assumed it was a habit rather than a need. 

“Okay,” Geno says when he realizes that he’s been quiet for too long. “What drink?”

“Water.” Sid licks his bottom lip. “Sparkling water.”

He goes to get Sid his own glass while filling one for himself, but then thinks better of it. “Come, I show you.” 

Perhaps it’s rude to treat Sid as though he doesn’t know how to prepare his own drink, but when Sid sidles up next to him and grabs one of the empty glasses from the counter, Geno taps the bottle with the blue cap. 

“This is with bubbles.” 

There’s a hiss from the bottle when Sid opens the cap, and he freezes for a moment. “Oh. I’d forgotten they do that.” 

_ So he’s had sparkling water before_, Geno thinks. _ But doesn’t remember what it sounds like. Why? _

He watches as Sid sits down in his usual seat with the glass in front of him, his back straight and shoulders back, too still for a person. 

That night, Sid uses the bathroom after him, which is a surprise on its own. Geno’s always assumed that he used the guest bathroom down the hall while waiting, but perhaps not. Sid is nude when he comes back out, his soft cock heavy between his thick thighs, unselfconscious as though he’s never considered his naked body to be something other than a tool. 

His tattoos are magnificent in the dim light from the bedside table; twisting and winding over his shoulders and upper arms, around his sides and onto his stomach, and down the outside of his thighs. They’re hidden when Sid wears clothes, even short sleeves covering them up, but Geno likes seeing them. It’s as though the answer to all of Sid’s secrets is hidden among the symbols. 

It also reminds him that Sid isn’t like him. 

“What?” Sid asks and Geno blinks back to reality. He’s become used to watching Sid openly, because he never seems to take notice. 

“Just look at tattoos,” Geno says and shrugs, burrowing deeper under the covers. 

Sid looks down at himself. “Why?”

“I think they fascinating.” Geno wants to trail their paths with his fingertips, but he never touches Sid. It’s Sid who touches him. 

Sid doesn’t reply to that and a moment later, he’s getting in bed too, leaning back against the headboard and puts a hand on Geno’s head. He sighs as Sid’s fingertips press into the base of his skull, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing on their own accord. 

The last thing he remembers is Sid whispering, “Sleep now.” 

Geno walks around the trophy room. The cups are shining in their silver caskets and the familiarity of Cyrillic on the plates is soothing. This is where he belongs; where he can express himself properly, where he knows what to say to the media, where he doesn’t have to hesitate before speaking up. 

A guard is standing in the doorway to the room, his uniform neat and like Geno remembers from his Metallurg days. 

He weaves around the displays and pauses when he spots a familiar one. They’d placed first in the superleague that year, and then lost in the semifinals. It was his last year with Metallurg. 

“Would you like a tour?” a voice comes from behind him.

With a jump, Geno turns around and the guard is now standing behind him. 

“Please. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” 

The guard takes him through the arena; the locker rooms and the stands. None of it is familiar to him, but maybe they’ve renovated it during the last decade. It was pretty run down during his days here. 

“How long have you worked here?” Geno asks the guard, but he doesn’t get an answer. Strange. 

A moment later, they walk past the big hall where the fans arrive before a game and Geno stops dead in his tracks. There, in big letters is the name of the arena displayed for everyone to see. Арена-Металлург. 

No, no that’s wrong. Arena Metallurg wasn’t built until he’d already left. He’s just about to point this out to the guard, when his blood runs cold. This is a trick. A lure, Sid called it. _ Sid. _

“Sid,” he whispers under his breath, fighting to remember English. “You need come get me.” 

“What was that?” the guard asks over his shoulder. 

“Everything looks just like I remember it,” Geno says, his heart beating faster. He lowers his voice again. _ “Sid. Come get me.” _

To his right, a door opens to the public restrooms. He barely catches the movement, but it can’t be a coincidence. 

“Will you excuse me for a moment,” he says to the guard. “I just need to use the restroom.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

The guard stops at the bottom of the staircase to the upper floor, his hands clasped in front of him. Geno tries not to think too much about his gun and nods a thank you. 

_ Don’t rush, _ he thinks. _ Don’t rush and make it obvious that you’re running away. _

The moment he steps inside the door to the restroom, strong hands grasp him and pull him to the side. 

“Geno.” Familiar, dark eyes bore into him. 

“Sid,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “I’m not sure you hear me.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Sid says, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

Geno jerks awake to the familiar view of his bedroom and Sid leaning over him in bed. Blinking rapidly, Geno sucks in deep breaths and grounds himself in the pressure of Sid’s hand against his chest. 

“Why I slip again?” he asks once his heart has slowed. “You tell me our connection is more strong.”

Sid pulls his hand back. “It is. It’s working.”

“I _ slip_,” Geno protests. 

“You slipped, but you noticed that it wasn’t real and you called for me. That’s progress, Geno.” 

Staring up at the ceiling, Geno mulls that over. This is the first time he’s figured it out on his own and Sid showed up to help him when he called. That...well, it makes it feel a little less terrifying.

“Why you hide?” he asks then.

“If they see a Breaker there, it’s not going to end well.” 

Geno looks over at Sid. He’s sitting up in bed, sheets thrown to the side and his skin is gleaming from sweat. His tattoos look darker, _ harsher _ against his pale skin. 

“What you mean?” 

“Even if you’re not aware that it’s a trick, _ they _ are.” 

“They?” 

Sid narrows his eyes and bites his lip. “Yes, I think it’s time we talk about that.”

He gets out of bed without another word and walks, still nude, out of the bedroom. Geno scrambles after him, pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the way downstairs. It’s not even morning yet and the sky is still dark outside. In the kitchen, Sid is stirring a mug and there are tea lights scattered across the kitchen island. 

“Raspberry jam,” Sid says, still with his back turned. 

“What?”

“In your tea. Raspberry jam, correct?” 

Geno has no idea when he picked that up and he can barely concentrate when Sid is still standing there completely naked. “Yes.” 

“Sit down.” 

Picking his usual chair, Geno accepts the mug when Sid puts it down in front of him. The steam from the tea is dancing in the candle light and the familiar smell eases some of his worry. 

“Why all this?” 

Sid frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Tea. Candle.” Geno gestures at the flickering lights. 

“I thought it would calm you down.” 

Looking up, Sid is watching him. His eyes are lighter now, brown rather than black. 

“Thank you. Is nice of you.” 

Sid smiles. It’s barely-there and over faster than Geno can blink, but it was there. “Now, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How you created that connection to begin with.” 

“Not sure,” Geno admits. “Is hazy night.” 

“Tell me what you remember.” 

“Okay.” Geno digs into his memories. “Is my birthday. I just get paper from my ex wife and I know divorce is final.”

“Was this a surprise to you?” 

“No.” Geno smiles to himself, bitterness souring his stomach. “We not live together for long time and before that everything is bad for long, too. We not fight, we not yell or anything. I think all feelings just die, you know? We indifferent. I think maybe is worse? If you angry and you fight, you still have emotion.” 

“So why did it matter that you got the divorce papers?”

Sighing to himself, Geno shrugs. “I think is like admit defeat. I have rough last season, marriage over, is like all I think is important in my life is leaving me. I lose everything.” 

“Then what?” Sid urges. 

“Is my birthday so friends take me out for dinner. New restaurant, very popular because it’s in old building—”

Sid straightens at that. 

“—and I eat lots, drinks lots.” Geno pulls a face at the memory. “I’m very drunk and I go to bathroom. Is downstairs, and I slip little bit on stairs because they really old stone? Different size of steps so balance is hard.”

“What’s this building exactly?” Sid asks. 

Shrugging, Geno sips his tea. It’s perfect. “Just old building in stone. I think communism tear down and then they rebuild in similar style.” 

Sid nods to himself. “Continue.” 

“I find wine cellar and I’m lost down there.” He tries to remember the rest, but it’s kind of blurry. “I sit down on shelf and I’m sad. Maybe I talk to myself little bit. It feel like someone talk back to me, you know? Like maybe I’m not alone.”

“Explain.” 

“I remember I say my life all bad.” He remembers the way his voice echoed, the damp smell of the dirt floor. The next memory runs a chill down his spine. “Someone ask me what I do if life get better. What I offer for make life better again.”

Sid’s eyes narrow. 

“I say—” Geno swallows. “I say I do anything for this season to be good.” 

“And then what?”

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

“And then what, Geno?”

“They ask _ anything? _ I say _ yes_.” His hands are shaking against the mug. “I remember I see person behind crates. I decide I go over there, I think they wave for me, but then my friend Sanya, Radulov, he come drag me upstairs.” 

“Geno,” Sid says and his tone is heavy. “This isn’t good.” 

His heart is beating so fast that he can’t hear anything above the rushing sound in his ears. He stares at Sid, the seriousness of the situation dawning on him. “You help me, right?” 

“I don’t think you realize what you’ve done.” 

“Sid.” Geno swallows and his scalp prickles, the skin of his thighs crawling from anxiety. “Please.”

To his surprise, Sid walks around the island, still unbothered by his own nudity, and puts his hand over both of Geno’s. “I will try.” 

+

The only thing that seems to change over the next week is the frequency with which Sid touches him. He sits close when Geno watches the away games in the den, he switches chairs during meals so that their thighs are touching, he takes to wearing Geno’s used clothes more often. 

However it works, it seems to do the trick, because his presence at the back of Geno’s mind seems to solidify. He’s having not-dreams again, lucid and distant, but they’re definitely there. 

“Tell me,” Geno says one evening during the second intermission. “Why I dream again.”

“They’re not—”

“I know,” Geno interrupts. “You know what I mean.”

When there’s no answer, he looks away from the interview of Tanger. Sid’s jaw is clenched and his gaze is dark in a way it hasn’t been since the last time Geno slipped. 

“What you not telling me?” 

Sid turns towards him and his face is unreadable. 

“I don’t know why, but they desperately want you.” 

Geno’s stomach drops and turns to knots. “Why?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Sid takes a breath. “They want what you owe them, but I have no idea what for.” 

“Why you can’t break it?”

“I’ve been trying,” Sid admits. “When you’re sleeping. Every time I try, the connection between us—you and me—threatens to rip instead. Your connection to them is still too strong, stronger than ours. If I push too hard, you’re alone with nothing to pull you back. It’s an open market on you.” 

Geno’s hands are shaking in his lap and he doesn’t bother hiding it. It’s not a secret that he’s scared. Terrified. 

“I’m not giving up on you,” Sid says. “We’re strengthening our connection; at some point that means the other will weaken.” 

“Unless they take me first,” Geno adds. 

Sid looks away, nodding. “Yes, unless they get to you first.” 

Taking a slow breath, Geno closes his eyes and tries to think for a second. “Before, you say fast way is sex.”

Sid stills and he’s wide-eyed when Geno looks at him again. 

“Is still true?”

“Yes, but—” Sid shakes his head. “I already told you that’s off the table.”

With his heart sinking, Geno gets up from the couch. “I’m go to bed. Goodnight.”

For once, Sid doesn’t follow him right away and it’s a nice change to get his bedroom to himself for a while. _ It’s not too late, _ he tells himself, _ Sid says this is working. _ It’s a good thing that they don’t need to have sex. _ Right? _

He can’t lie to himself, though. What if he can’t ever play hockey again? What if he slips and Sid can’t get him out? What will his parents say? What are they going to tell the fans? Geno has never been an anxious person—emotional, yes, sometimes shy around new people and loud around friends, but never anxious—however, his heart is trying to beat through his ribs. 

Picking up the phone, he finds his Mama among the contacts but then locks it. It’s the middle of the night in Magnitogorsk and she’d be worried sick if he called now. It’s not worth it.

“Can I come in?” 

Looking over his shoulder, he finds Sid standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his hands in his pockets. 

With a shrug, Geno rolls over on his side and closes his eyes. He listens to Sid washing up in the bathroom and the clicks of the light switches as he comes back out. The mattress dips under his weight and Geno can _ feel _ his hesitation. 

“I’m sorry,” Sid says. 

“For what?” 

“I upset you.” 

Geno swallows. “No. Is me—I’m so scared.” To prove his point, he holds up his trembling hand. 

He expects Sid to drop it, or to explain things again in his sometimes overly matter-of-fact way. What he doesn’t expect is Sid’s hand to squeeze his upper arm and for him to move closer under the sheets. 

As though it can sense their connection too, his heart beat slows a fraction, allowing him to breathe properly. 

“Hey G...“ Sid ventures and he tucks himself against Geno’s back, his breath stirring the little hairs at the nape of his neck. He smells of toothpaste and the Byredo hand soap from the bathroom. Curling an arm around Geno’s chest, Sid splays out his hand, resting it just above his heart. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“You can’t know.” But Sid’s words are calming and the warm press of his naked body against Geno’s equally naked back is more comfort than he’d like to admit out loud. 

“I promise,” Sid says and settles in against him. 

Sleep overcomes him faster than he expected and just before he drifts off, he catches Sid’s barely audible words: “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

+

A week later, Geno wakes up to an empty bed. His back is cold where Sid is normally pressed up against him. It’s strange how fast he’s gotten used to that. 

Groaning, he rolls over on his back and tries to detect where Sid might be. There are no sounds coming from the bathroom and the door is open. The bedroom door is closed, per usual, when Geno sleeps. 

Worry curls tight into a ball at the pit of his stomach and he gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of underwear as he goes. At first, the house seems quiet, but when he reaches the staircase, he hears something. Movement, low sounds, a tap running. 

Frowning, Geno makes himself as quiet as he can and creeps down the stairs and towards the kitchen door. It’s ajar, bleak light escaping out into the dining room. He takes a breath, trying to still his heartbeat and silence his breath. Peeking into the kitchen, he didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. 

Sid is standing, fully nude per usual, at the kitchen counter. _ Eating. _ There’s a strange disarray of items in front of him, and Geno can’t see all of them from here, but he can make out the jar of kalamata olives, a block of cheese, a couple of cherry tomatoes, a glass of water, a handful of uncooked pasta and a melting popsicle he keeps in the freezer to bribe Gonch’s girls. The light is coming from the open fridge, making Sid’s skin glow and his tattoos look like they’re moving over his skin. 

He watches as Sid takes a bite off the dry spaghetti and his displeased frown as he chews. It’s loud in the silence and Geno can’t stop the laugh before it’s already escaped him. 

“Why you eat uncooked pasta?” he asks and pushes the door open, because he’s already given himself away now. Sid watches him, eyes narrowed. “Why you _ eat_?” Geno adds. 

Sid looks down at the spaghetti in his hand and bites his lip. “I thought it didn’t taste like I remembered.” 

“You can read on box, you know. It tell you how to do.” 

Sid gives him a flat look. “I thought I knew.” 

While Sid has started to drink water, especially sparkling water, almost daily now, Geno has never seen him eat anything before. 

“You hungry?” he asks and walks into the kitchen. 

After a moment of hesitation, Sid nods. “Sorry for waking you. I tried to keep it down.” 

“I wake because I’m alone in bed,” Geno says with a shrug. “I guess I’m use to have you there.” 

“It’s a good sign that our connection is getting stronger,” Sid says. 

“You still hungry or you full after all uncooked pasta?” Geno asks, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. 

“Still hungry,” Sid admits and looks down at the items in front of him. “I picked things I recognized. That I used to like, I think.” 

“I make you pasta dish.” Geno grabs a pot and fills it with water. “Pasta with mushroom, tomato, cheese is okay?”

Sid gives him a blank look. 

“Okay,” Geno says to himself. “I think you like. Put away things, bring pasta box, mushroom from fridge, more tomato from bowl in window, and white squishy cheese from fridge. Maybe eat ice cream while you wait.” 

Sid watches him with the same kind of focus he has whenever he’s talking about Geno’s unwanted connection. He seems to like the popsicle, though, because he licks his fingers afterwards and then his lips. 

“Good?” Geno asks while he chops the mushrooms. 

“Yes,” Sid says and licks his lips again, leaving them red and shiny. “I used to love sweets. I think.” 

He’s an enigma to Geno. The way he talks is strange, with how he refers to not remembering normal, human things. When they first met, Geno assumed that Sid just wasn’t...human. Now, he’s no longer so sure. 

A while later, he pushes the bowl with the pasta dish to Sid over the counter. “I get water for you.” 

He sits down on his usual stool as Sid digs in and holds his breath when Sid takes the first bite. At first there’s no reaction, and then Sid lets out a deep, satisfied _ moan _ that makes Geno’s gut clench. 

“I love _ pasta_,” Sid says fervently and for the first time seems to lose all of his cool composure. He looks young now, eyes brighter than ever before and almost hazel in color. He’s _ beautiful. _

Geno swallows and waits until Sid is almost finished with his meal. “I can ask something?” 

Sid blinks, a little wide-eyed as though he’s completely forgotten that Geno is there with him. “Yes.” 

“You often say you forget or not remember. What you mean?”

Frowning, Sid puts his fork down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been a long time for me.”

“With _ eat_?” Geno asks. Logically he knows, because Sid has been living with him for a long time now and it’s the first time he has a meal, but it’s just too crazy to consider. 

“Yes.” 

“How?” Geno bites his lip. “You even human? Or you ghost?”

Sid snorts. “Ghosts don’t exist.” 

“Is funny how you make it sound like ghost is ridiculous, but me make deal with spirit and maybe die because I do is possible.” 

Smiling slightly, Sid shifts in his chair. “Point taken.”

Geno waits him out, he can almost see the gears shifting in Sid’s brain. 

“I used to be human, I think I still am.” Sid clears his throat. “Actually I don’t know what I am.” 

“How old?”

“Me?”

Geno nods. 

“I was born in 87.”

“1987?” Geno asks, just to make sure.

Sid rolls his eyes. “Yes.” 

“So why you not know what you are?” He feels like he’s poking at something he isn’t sure he wants to wake up, but the stick is in his hand and it’s too late to back out now. 

“I wasn’t born a Breaker,” Sid says. “I started young, though. As a Breaker, you’re connected to the other side in ways a human isn’t. As that connection grew stronger, I think my human needs faded. I can’t pinpoint when or how—it was a gradual thing.”

“But now it come back.” 

Sid looks at him for a long moment without blinking. _ Not so human after all_, Geno can’t help but think to himself. 

“Yes.” Sid’s tone doesn’t make room for more questions so Geno doesn’t ask. 

The following week is more frustrating than the very first week they had together. Since Sid rediscovered his love for food, he’s been making every meal a trying time. Geno hasn’t gotten laid since before Sid moved in with him and he’s reminded of that every time Sid very vocally shows how much he appreciates the food he’s eating. 

He tries to focus on working out and keeping in shape, but Sid hovering and watching him with those dark eyes is just adding to the food frustration. 

“I’m go out with team,” Geno tells Sid one night. 

“When?” Sid asks, eyes not leaving the TV. He’s newly obsessed with FRIENDS and makes Geno put it on whenever they’re relaxing in the den. 

“Tomorrow after game.” 

“Okay, we’ll go,” Sid says. 

Geno wants to bang his head against the wall. “Only me.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

Sid turns towards him, his face serious and a stubborn set to his jaw that Geno hasn’t seen in a while. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t care.” He hasn’t slipped in a long time now and there’s no reason he’ll do it tomorrow. There’s a huge risk that he’s going to climb a wall if he doesn’t get laid, though. 

“Yes you do.” Sid’s voice is calm, confident. 

Geno gets up, willing himself not to do anything stupid. “_No_, I’m need get laid, Sid. I go out tomorrow, get laid.”

“I don’t care, I’ll be there. You won’t even notice me.” 

The following night, Sid does keep himself in the background. He’s sitting on the couch with an untouched beer in front of him, not talking with anyone and watching Geno’s every move with dark, unblinking eyes. 

_ Fuck that, _ Geno thinks to himself. _ He can watch all he wants. _

There’s a beautiful, red-haired woman at the table next to theirs and she’s been making eyes at him all evening. He’s picked up in front of a crowd before, this won’t be different just because Sid’s here. 

He smiles and walks over to her. She’s even more beautiful up close, with blue eyes and freckles across her nose. “I’m Geno,” he says and extends his hand. “I can sit down?” 

“Sure.” Her smile widens. “I’m Rebekah.” 

It all goes quite well until Rebekah leans closer and says, “Is that your friend over there? He’s been watching us all night.”

Geno doesn’t have to look to know that she’s referring to Sid. “Ignore him.” 

While Rebekah does just that, Geno _ can’t. _ When they head out on the dance floor, he spots Sid watching them by the wall. 

When they go to the bar, Sid is a few seats away and when they move to a more secluded area, hoping to get some time alone before hopefully going home together, Sid is at the next table over. 

“I’m sorry,” Geno says and smiles, even though he’s about to snap any second now. “I’m think my friend is drunk and I take him home. If you want, please give me number and I call you?” 

He doesn’t say anything during the car ride home and ignores Sid until he closes the front door at home. 

“Why are you angry?” Sid asks. 

“_Why__—_why I’m angry?!” Geno can’t help but laugh. “You ruin _ everything! _ How I have life with you here? I’m like monk because you can’t fix my head. Can’t even let me get laid in peace, because you _ there_.” 

Sid opens his mouth to say something, but his wide-eyed expression makes Geno turn away. 

“I go to bed.” 

He takes a shower first, washing away the smell of the club and the worst of his frustration. This isn’t Sid’s fault. Sighing, he leans his forehead against the tiles and closes his eyes. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his own. Sid was just doing his job. 

“Fuck,” Geno mutters and turns the water off. When he leaves the bathroom, Sid’s already in bed. He looks up, expression hesitant and Geno really wishes he wasn’t naked for this conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” he says as he climbs into bed. “I know you only do job, try keep me safe.”

“Yes.” 

“Not mean for blow up like that.” Sighing, he looks over at Sid. “Sorry. Is unfair of me. Sorry I’m mean.”

“You were upset,” Sid says. 

“Yes. I’m frustrate.” 

“I promise that if I didn’t have to be there, I wouldn’t.” Sid looks away and Geno reaches out, touching Sid’s hand. It doesn’t hit him until he’s already squeezing Sid’s fingers, that this is the first time he’s touched Sid and not the other way around. 

“Sorry for be asshole.” 

Sid’s smile is faint, but it’s definitely there. “I forgive you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Tonight, he falls asleep to Sid tracing faint patterns across his chest. He’s safe here, with Sid. The rest can wait. 

+

Geno frowns down at the two remaining olives in the jar. Didn’t he buy new ones just two days ago? Oh well, he’ll have to make do without them. 

It’s not until later that night, when he finds Sid rummaging through the fridge muttering to himself that Geno connects the dots. 

“What you looking for?”

Sid jumps and closes the door, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Nothing.” 

“Ice cream is in freezer.”

“Oh, I know.” Sid bites his lip. 

“If you want me for buy something, you just say, okay?” 

“Mhm, yes.” Sid nods. 

Geno doesn’t think he would, though. Ever since Sid started eating, Geno has tried to pinpoint what he likes the most. Pasta is a guaranteed success, as well as cheesecake. He’s not a huge fan of broccoli, but will eat it anyway. Sushi is a no-go. 

“I just want say goodnight,” Geno says. 

Sid smiles—he does that more often now but Geno is never prepared for it. “I’ll be there soon.” 

He wakes briefly when Sid crawls into bed and scoots in close, smiling to himself as Sid’s warm hand finds its usual place on his chest. 

“Sorry for waking you,” Sid says quietly. 

“Don’t mind.” 

Sid’s breath ghosts against his skin and Geno is just about to drift off again when Sid says, “I think you can start playing again.”

+

The first time Geno steps out on the ice after his first slip is like coming back home. He’s skated in practice before the coaches also deemed him fit for a game, but it’s different coming out here with the audience cheering his name.

Sid is in a seat by the glass behind the Penguins’ bench. That way they can reconnect after every shift on the ice, but even out here, Geno can feel his presence at the back of his mind. A comfort, of sorts. 

It’s not the best game he’s played, but he gets an assist and he’s _ alive _ again. 

“Why you not let me play sooner?” he asks Sid that night when he’s freshly showered and naked in bed. Sid is rereading a book he’s found somewhere in Geno’s library. One of his few books in English. It’s on the Cold War. Maybe he should get more books for Sid. 

“It’s a big risk.”

“I can feel you in head all game.” 

Sid closes the book and turns towards him. “I know that. Our connection is strong enough for us to be away from each other for short amounts of time, like when you’re on the ice, or in the locker room. I’ll need to come with you on road trips.”

“I know,” Geno says, because they’ve been over this already with Sully and management. “You not answer my question.”

Visibly hesitating, Sid searches his face for something. “Hockey is a violent sport. If you get knocked out, you don’t even have your subconscious defense.”

“What you mean?”

“When you slip in your sleep, your subconscious is still there. It’s connected to me and that’s how you called for me last time—you knew something was wrong. If you’re unconscious, all you can do is rely on me finding you fast enough.”

“But you fast enough?” It comes out as a question even though Geno means for it to be a statement. 

“I hope so.” Sid looks away. “I hope it never comes to that.”

“Why?”

“Because if I get to you on time, it would be a first.” 

Swallowing, Geno hopes for Sid to laugh it off, but his tone is serious and his expression grim. 

“I’m not get knock out in many years,” he says, maybe mostly to reassure himself. “Too tall, no one reach head.” 

That makes Sid smile slightly and his eyes brighten. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” 

+

A few days before the first road trip since he was cleared to play, Geno looks at Sid’s clothes that’s found their way into one of the drawers into his closet. There’s the pair of jeans Sid normally wears and five t-shirts, one of which used to be Geno’s, a few pairs of socks and a bunch of underwear. 

If Sid is going to be flying with them, which he will, a t-shirt and jeans won’t do. 

“Sid,” Geno says loud enough to be heard out to the bedroom. 

“Yes?” Sid replies from right behind him, making him jump. 

Geno turns and glares at him, heart racing in his chest. “Why you scare me?!” 

“Sorry.” Sid’s smile is sheepish.

“Do you have suit?” 

“For what?” Sid closes the drawer. “Why are you looking at my clothes?”

“One of shirts is mine,” Geno points out. “Maybe I’m looking at mine shirt, you don’t know.”

Sid rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth are tugging upward. “Sure.”

“I ask because you come with me on road trip and we always wear suit. Everyone notice if you in jeans.” 

Sid frowns at that, biting his lip. “I guess that makes sense.”

“I know you not fan of clothes in general,” Geno says and tries not to think too much about how often Sid walks around in the nude at home. “But maybe bad idea on plane.”

“You make it sound like I go to your games without clothes,” Sid says with a snort. 

“I’m not complain.” Geno shrugs. “But I think PR will when reporter ask why we have naked guy on team.”

Sid shakes his head, smiling. “So where do I get a suit, then?”

“I ask tailor, maybe he can do express for you.”

The following day, while Sid is getting his new suit fitted, Geno pauses in front of the bookstore on his way to his favorite clothing store, where they have an endless supply of t-shirts with great prints. Sid has reread the few books in English that Geno owns so many times, and especially the history ones, that the covers are bent and some of the pages have fallen out. 

“How can I help you?” the clerk asks. He clearly recognizes him, but does his best to pretend otherwise.

“Need best books on history. Wars, anything.”

He leaves forty minutes later with a heavy bag that he puts in the trunk, before he goes to collect Sid. 

Going on a road trip with the team is not going to be easy for either of them. While Sid often seems unaware of how uncomfortable he can make the people around him, he knows that the team is important to Geno. This won’t be a night out with the guys, but four days of removing them both from the safe comfort of the house, and really putting their connection through a test. 

The night before, Geno tries to prepare him the best he can. Anything from what they do on the plane, to what the preliminary schedule is and what to expect if they win or lose.

However, nothing prepares him for the sight of Sid in his new suit. It’s navy, tailored to his compact body, and he’s standing inside the front door with a dark blue tie in his hands. He’s devastatingly handsome and his hair is less wild, tamed to some kind of curly order. 

Sid opens his mouth when Geno takes the last step down the staircase with their suitcase. There wasn’t much Sid wanted to bring and there was room in Geno’s bag, so why not share?

“What?” Geno asks. 

“I don’t remember how to tie it,” Sid says, biting his lip. “I know I’ve known before.” 

“No worry, I tie thousand of ties,” Geno says and steps closer, taking the silk tie from Sid’s hands. The faint, woven pattern is familiar, as he loops it around Sid’s neck. “Is one of mine?”

“Yes,” Sid says. He borrows a lot of Geno’s things—clothes in particular—and he never asks for permission or apologizes for it afterwards. “I liked it.” 

“Look good on you,” Geno says as he tightens the tie and folds down Sid’s collar. “You can keep.” 

Sid looks down on the tie and strokes the fabric as if it’s something precious. When he looks up at Geno again, still standing so close, his eyes are big and bright. “Thank you.” 

On the plane, Sid picks the seat behind him, unwilling to partake in the traditional card game. Perhaps that’s for the best. This way they can keep some kind of pretense of normalcy.

Just after take off, Geno turns in his seat and reaches between the backrests to tap Sid on the thigh. 

“Bring something for you,” he says and holds out one of the books he purchased. “I think maybe you need new books, yes?”

Sid stares at the book for a long moment before he reaches out to accept it. “You got it for me?”

“I know I’m not have lot of books in English,” Geno explains. “I feel bad you always have for read same books hundred times.” 

“Thank you,” Sid says, voice quiet. “Thank you, Geno.” 

He’s barely noticeable during the flight, but their connection feels like a firm pull at the back of Geno’s mind. The guys don’t seem as uncomfortable around Sid as they used to and that is a comfort on its own. 

The first thing Sid does when they get to their hotel room is rid himself of his clothes. Geno is around a lot of nudity on an almost-daily basis, but it’s different with Sid. He looks even more otherworldly without clothes; when his tattoos come alive on his skin as he moves and when his confidence seems even stronger where most people might feel the opposite. 

“Where will you have dinner tonight?” Sid asks him as he gets on the bed and picks up the book Geno gave him on the plane. 

“Just around corner.” They usually go there whenever they’re here. It’s a good spot for the first night, when everyone’s tired after travel. “You can come too.” 

“No,” Sid says firmly. “This is a good test to see how strong our connection is. Come right back here if you feel like you’re losing me, okay?” 

He’s so used to having Sid in his personal space at all times, except for when he plays or is in the locker room, that going to dinner alone with the guys leaves him with the constant sense of having forgotten something. Sid’s presence at the back of his mind weakens, but he’s definitely still there when Geno orders his steak and big salad. 

During the first half-hour, he keeps checking to see if it’s still there, but it doesn’t seem to budge and he can pay attention to the conversations around him.

“Is it weird having him with you all the time?” Tanger asks, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“Not anymore,” Geno says and shrugs. “At first I’m so uncomfortable all time. He’s everywhere, you know? When I’m sleep, eat, go to bathroom, _ everywhere_. Now I’m keep checking pockets like I forget something, because he _ not _ here.” 

“He’s super strange,” Flower says, his tone way too cheerful for those words. “A complete weirdo.” 

“Even you seem normal in comparison,” Tanger agrees. 

“He not so weird,” Geno disagrees, even though he’s quite certain that Sid is the strangest person he’s ever met. “He kind and try for understand. I’m not think he so used to spend time with other people, so he need some practice.”

“He watches you all the time when he’s around,” Flower says. 

“Is his job,” Geno says and shrugs again. “Little bit like bodyguard? He just not have gun.” 

Flower grows serious then. “How’s all of that going, by the way? Have you had more, uh, issues?”

“Couple of time.” He’d rather not think about that one slip to Metallurg Arena. “Some not so bad, one very bad.” 

Tanger shakes his head. “Fuck, that’s terrifying. But he can save you, right? That’s why you keep him around?”

“We hope he can.” Geno swallows and clings to Sid’s promise to do whatever it takes. “Maybe more hard than we think, you know? I have other connection for long without realize, so it’s manifest now. Sid work hard to break it and I know he do his best. I hope is enough.” 

“I might’ve looked him up,” Flower says and looks vaguely guilty. 

“Okay?” Geno frowns at him. 

“No one really knows who he is, except for being a Breaker.”

He opens his mouth to explain that Sid doesn’t seem to fully know who he was before this either, but then decides against it. It’s not his story to tell. “I’m not surprise. He very private.” 

“But it’s _ weird_. The other two guys, they have websites and everything, but Sid...he seems to be a word-of-mouth recommendation.” 

“Other two guys was also fake,” Geno snaps. “They pretend they know, but they not know anything. Risk my life because they lie.” 

“You can’t know that,” Tanger says. “Sid could be a liar too.”

“Is different,” Geno says. “I feel him and I see him when I’m in slip. That never happen before. Maybe he strange and little bit weird, but he’s not liar.”

“Geno,” Flower begins. “Have you considered that maybe you trust a little too easily?”

“Yes,” Geno says. “But not with Sid.” 

When he comes back to the room, Sid is almost exactly where he left him, reading on the bed, still without clothes. There are no signs of a room service tray or leftovers anywhere in the room, and Sid has been eating regularly for a while now. 

“You not hungry?” Geno asks. 

Sid closes his book and bites his lip. “A bit?”

“Why you not order room service?”

“I don’t know,” Sid says and looks away. 

Geno wants to push for more information but it’s not what’s important here. Instead, he picks up the menu from the desk and hands it over. “We look for good dinner here and we order. They for sure have pasta. I know you like.”

He falls asleep to Sid eating a lobster pasta dish at the desk, watching the TV without sound on and wearing the bathrobe Geno made him put on before the food was delivered. He’s tied it on a bit too loose, so his chest is exposed where the robe has parted, and one of his thighs. He’s both beautiful and terrifying in the cold, blue light from the screen. 

+

The road trips have slowly become routine in their own sense. Sid stays in the room, much like he stays in Geno’s house when they’re in Pittsburgh, and their connection is strong enough that Geno doesn’t have to hurry to the hotel after dinner. He’s started to notice when it starts to weaken and he has to go back, getting that very strange sense of something slipping back into place when he gets inside the door to their hotel room. 

His sexual frustration hasn’t gotten much better, however. It’s been a long time since he had sex and with Sid so present at the back of his mind, he avoids jerking off as well. 

It’s a cold morning before a home game that he turns towards Sid in bed and says, “If we win tonight, I go out with team, maybe find someone I have sex with.” 

Sid’s soft morning look shuts off into a masque of indifference. It hasn’t been there in so long that it takes a moment for Geno to remember that he used to wear this expression all the time when they first met. 

“Of course,” Sid says. 

“Is easier now when you not have to come out with us, you know? Is not so weird.” 

“Absolutely.” Sid smiles, but it’s more awkward than the first one he ever gave Geno. 

They do win the game that night and he can feel the connection with Sid during the entire game, an almost-tangible comfort. 

“Where’s Sid?” Horny asks, dropping onto the couch next to Geno in their usual spot. 

“Home.” 

“Doesn’t he have to come?” Flower asks and he leans across the small table, knocking over a couple of empty bottles. 

“Connection is strong now. We decide is better I come here alone.” Geno takes a swig from his glass. “I need get laid.” 

“So go home?” Flower offers, clearly confused.

“Of course I’m not take them home,” Geno scoffs. “I’m introduce them to Sid tomorrow? Is more easy if I go to them, I can leave when I’m want.” 

“Did you tell Sid?” Horny asks and he has some kind of silent conversation with Flower that Geno doesn’t understand. 

“Yes.”

“And, uh, how did he react?” Flower asks. 

“Why you ask so much?” Geno glares at them. “He act like always, maybe little bit weird. Sometime he still little bit weird.” 

“O-kay,” Horny says slowly. “Whatever you want.” 

A guy over at the bar catches Geno’s attention not long after that. He’s a bit shorter, athletic build, with sandy blond hair and a great smile. It’s been a while since he picked up a guy, having been married for quite a few years and then spending his summer in Russia, but this could be exactly what he needs. 

The guy’s name is Brian and he’s an engineer who thinks Geno’s accent is sexy and is very into guys who are taller than him. 

“Maybe I can make you a drink back at my place?” Brian offers. 

“Sound perfect,” Geno says and the forgotten rush of a successful flirt makes his stomach light. “I just tell guys first.”

“I’ll be right here.” 

Most of the team is still there when Geno gets to the VIP section. He finds Flower and gets his coat from his old spot. 

“I go with him,” he says and gestures vaguely in the direction of the bar. 

Flower makes a complicated face before he exchanges a look with Tanger, who shakes his head. 

“You’re an idiot,” Tanger says. 

“Because I’m get laid?” 

“Because you don’t even want to have sex with him if you’re honest with yourself!” Flower blurts. 

“Yes I want.” 

“Sure okay,” Tanger says. “Then go fuck him.” 

Geno can’t quite wrap his head around their behavior when he pulls on his coat and goes to find Brian. Before he walks out of the VIP section, he checks on his connection with Sid. It’s as strong as ever. _ Sid. _Geno has avoided thinking about him all evening, because every time he does he replays Sid’s reaction this morning over and over again. 

Brian is waiting out there and five minutes ago, Geno was all up for going home with him, having some well-needed casual sex and then heading back to his own place. Now, his stomach is heavy and all he can think of is Sid waiting for him to come home. 

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath and goes back to the bar. Brian is there, leaning against it, and talking to some other guy and lights up when he spots Geno approaching. 

“Ready to go?” 

“I can talk to you?” he asks and jerks his head to the side. 

“Changed your mind?” Brian asks when they’re out of earshot and he gives Geno a smile that’s way too kind for this conversation. 

“Sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Brian squeezes his arm. “I’m definitely not into you doing something you’re not comfortable with. Maybe come find me some other time, yeah? I frequent here.”

“Okay,” Geno says and lets out a heavy sigh when Brian leaves him behind. It’s possible that he’s going to regret this in twenty minutes, but whenever he’s felt as though his entire being screams no, it’s always been better to back out. 

The house is dark and quiet when he comes home. He takes a detour through the kitchen, half-expecting Sid to be standing there naked with the fridge open, snacking on something. The lights are all switched off and the fridge closed. 

Sid isn’t in the den, either, nor in the library. 

Frowning, Geno heads upstairs. Sid likes to read in bed and maybe he’s on his second read-through of his new book. They could talk about that. However, the master bedroom is empty and the only light is the soft glow from the lamp on the window sill. 

The sheets are new, Geno notices, but he took a pre-game nap after housekeeping had already left. It doesn’t make any sense. And where the hell is Sid?

Going out into the hallway again, he’s just about to call for him, when he notices that the door is closed to the guest bedroom. _ Strange. _

The room is dark when Geno pushes the door open and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There’s a figure on the bed, curled on his side under sheets that shouldn’t be so familiar to Geno. 

_ Sid doesn’t sleep, _ is all he can think when he steps closer. But he’s wrong. Sid’s breathing is deep and even, his mouth slightly open and his eyes closed. The sheets are the very same ones Geno napped in earlier today. Why is Sid here? In the guestroom of all places? 

He’s beautiful when he’s sleeping. He’s always beautiful, Geno figures, but there’s something soft and young over him now.

The easy thing would be to go to bed alone in the master bedroom and talk to Sid in the morning. He didn’t come home to do the easy thing, though. 

“Sid,” he whispers and crouches next to the bed. 

Sid’s eyelids flutter, but he only burrows deeper into the pillow. 

“Sid,” he says again, stroking Sid’s forearm with two fingers. “I’m home.” 

Cracking his eyes open, Sid looks at him for several long seconds. Then he draws in on himself, clenching his fist and pulling his arm back under the duvet. A foolish part of Geno had hoped for a smile; that Sid would be happy to see him. 

“Sorry I wake you,” he tries, keeping his voice quiet. “I’m not find you anywhere, I worry you leave. Then I find you here and you’re sleep. I think maybe something wrong, you know?”

“I’m fine,” Sid says. 

“Why you here?” Geno asks. 

“In your house?”

“No,” he says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “In guestroom.”

“I figured it’d be really awkward if I was in your bed when you brought someone home with you.” 

Geno’s stomach drops. “Sid…”

“Is she here now?”

“Who?”

“The woman you’re having sex with.” 

“No one here with me,” Geno says. “Only you.” 

“What time is it?”

“Little past one.” 

“Well, that was quick,” Sid says dryly. 

This time Geno does roll his eyes. “I’m not go home with him.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

“What?”

“I’m not go home with him.”

“Why?”

“Not want to.” Geno stands up to get rid of the itchy feeling in his body. “I’m go to bed. If you want sleep in our bed, maybe you come too?”

There’s a lump in his throat that he doesn’t want to think about as he gets ready for bed in the bathroom. Sid is right there in the back of his mind, but sharing a bed with him is comfortable and they’ve been doing it for so long now that going to bed without him is a new sense of lonely. 

He rolls over on his side, annoyed with the stiffness of the fresh sheets, and twists until he’s somewhat comfortable. Sid’s side is empty. Maybe he should’ve gone home with Brian after all, numbing his brain with someone else’s body for a while. 

This was such a stupid idea. 

He’s drifting when the bedroom door opens and Sid closes it behind him again. His tattoos look alive in the faint glow from the lamp on the window sill, as he pads through the room and clicks it off. The mattress dips under his weight and there’s a rustling of sheets before his body heat reaches Geno under the duvet. 

His chest warms, fingers tingling, and he’s just about to roll over so that Sid can curl up behind him, like they always do, when Sid moves in close and pulls Geno’s arm over his body. 

“Like this,” he says, wriggling until he’s flush with his back against Geno’s front. He fits so well there. 

+

They don’t talk about it. The next morning, Sid is back to normal and they fall back into their routine. Geno _ isn’t _ back to normal, though. He’s always known that Sid is good looking, beautiful even, but ever since he decided to not sleep with Brian it’s as though Sid gets hotter by the minute. 

At home it’s one thing. Geno can concentrate on other things whenever Sid walks around naked—which is most of the time these days. On the road, it’s a different situation altogether. The room is comparatively small and Sid’s nude body is in his face wherever he looks. 

He’s never noticed how big and round Sid’s ass is before, or exactly how thick his thighs are. It’s even worse when he’s wet from a shower, or when he so vocally enjoys his meals. 

Jerking off isn’t an option, either. Sid is so present in his mind that Geno is certain he would _ know._

The get off the plane in L.A. when Flower turns to Sid.

“You’re coming with us to dinner, right?” 

Sid’s gaze slides over to Geno and for a moment, he’s not entirely human again; too still and too aware. 

“I’d like that,” he says then, his responding smile small and delayed but genuine, and Geno has to look away. 

The first thing that happens when they get to their hotel room, is Sid getting rid of all of his clothes. The second is him walking straight up to Geno, a little too close for personal space boundaries, and looking him in the eyes. 

“What?” Geno asks. He hasn’t even had time to get out of his coat, and here’s Sid stark naked on the soft hotel carpet. 

“Do you not want me to come?” 

“To dinner?” he asks and when Sid nods he shakes his head. “Of course you come. You need food.”

“I can eat by myself. I know how to order room service,” Sid says and tilts his head to the side. When Geno’s ex-wife did that, she was flirting with him, but Sid does it as if Geno is this strange creature he can’t quite figure out. 

“You want eat alone?” 

“No,” Sid says immediately. 

“Then you eat with us.” 

Sid steals a plain, black t-shirt from him before they go out. Some of the guys do a double-take when they see him, but no one comments on it.

“Glad you decided to come,” Flower says and sits down with them. “You should really try the steak tartare, it’s really good.”

Sid immediately zooms in on his menu, licking his lips as he reads. 

“I think you like,” Geno agrees. “I try before.”

“Okay, I’ll have that.” Sid closes his menu and clasps his hands in front of him. 

The great thing with Flower is that he’s almost as weird as Sid and therefore doesn’t care too much when Sid slips out of his humanity every now and then. 

“You’re doing it again,” Flower says to Sid when he’s been watching Dumo coughing over the extra spicy dish he ordered, without blinking. 

“Oh,” Sid says and leans back in his chair. “I forget.”

“It’s maybe like we do when we daydream?” Geno offers and turns to Flower. “You know, when you look at nothing and you know gaze is stuck but you can’t break.”

“Probably,” Flower says. “How do you enjoy the games, Sid?”

Sid lights up. “I love watching them. It’s always so intense and the game is so fast-paced. I feel like I used to know how to skate.”

“Geno could let you give it a go at home, in Pittsburgh,” Flower says. “Come to the rink sometime and try. Your body probably remembers how to do it, even if you can’t envision it.” 

Looking over at Geno, there’s something hopeful in Sid’s bright gaze. 

“You want?” Geno asks. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay, we try when we back in Pittsburgh,” Geno says. There’s a twinge in his gut whenever he thinks too much about Sid’s past. Why doesn’t he remember? Who was he before all of this? He’s said that he started young, but what does that even mean? Where’s his family? He must have parents somewhere. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Sid’s hand lands on his thigh under the table. 

“Thank you,” he whispers when Flower dives head first into a discussion with Tanger. 

“No need for thank.” 

They go out after the game, Sid included, and Flower watches in glee as a woman openly flirts with Sid and he so obviously doesn’t understand what’s going on. His gaze flickers between Geno and Flower, and then back to the woman who’s combing fingers through her hair and leaning towards him. 

Geno has to intervene before she’s offended by Sid’s lack of understanding social clues. 

Pulling Sid to his feet, Geno throws an arm around his waist as if to support him. He makes an apologetic face to the woman. “He really drunk, sorry. Have to go back to hotel.” 

It’s quite late anyway and he’s tired—this is a great excuse. 

“Why did you do that?” Sid asks as soon as they’re on the street and Geno lets him go. 

“She flirt with you and you clueless.” 

“She was talking to me.”

“She flirt with you,” Geno says again, more firmly this time. “She smile, lean toward, put hair over shoulder. Is how it work. You not know?”

“No,” Sid says. 

“How you have sex with people before?” Geno shakes his head. 

“They ask and I say yes.” Sid bites his lip. “If it’s to break a connection, we just agree that it’s the best way to go about it and have sex.”

“So romantic.”

“Why would it be?”

Geno shrugs. “I like romantic. I like sex more if I love person I’m have sex with.” 

“Not always,” Sid points out. 

“No,” Geno agrees. “But I like more.”

“What do I do next time someone flirts with me?” Sid asks. 

“You ask me for advice?”

Sid nods. “Sure.”

This is going to be a long night.

+

A few days later, Geno brings Sid with him to the practice rink and has him wait until the practice is over. Sid is waiting by the door in the boards, too-still again. _ Nervous_, Geno thinks to himself. 

“You need help with skates?” he asks as he stops in front of Sid. 

Sid blinks and looks down at the skates he’s holding in his hands. “Oh. I think I’ll be okay.”

He sits down on the bench and toes off his shoes, before pushing his feet into the skates. Geno watches as he ties them, methodically as though his hands have done it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. _ Hmm. _

“Tight enough?” he asks and crouches down, testing the laces. “Good. I think you do before.”

“I think so too,” Sid says and gets to his feet. “I don’t know if I remember how to do this part, though.”

Holding out his hand, Geno moves back enough to give Sid some room on the ice. “Just go careful. Can hold on to me, and I help.” 

Sid grasps his hand, his hold tight, and he almost topples backwards when he steps on the ice. Steadying him, Geno puts his free hand on Sid’s hip. 

“Bend knees little bit, will help make more stable.” 

Sid takes a deep breath and relaxes his posture, bending his knees slightly. 

“Good,” Geno says and moves backwards, coaxing Sid into following him. He’s stiff, inhumanly so, but he follows. They make a lap around the rink and Sid is still holding onto his hands hard, his gaze on the ice and his legs stiff. 

“I think we were wrong,” he says and pulls a face. “I really don’t think I’ve done this before.” 

No one laces skates like that if they don’t know exactly how they’re supposed to feel. 

“I know you skate before,” Geno says. “But you think too much, Sid.”

“I’m trying to figure out how this works,” Sid says tersely. 

Geno stops them and nudges Sid’s chin until he looks up. His cheeks are a little flushed from the cold and his eyes dark. It’s been a while since they were this color. 

“You trust me?” Geno asks. 

“What?”

“You trust me?” he asks again. 

Sid stares at him for a long time, and then he says, “Yes.” 

“Good. I _ know _ you skate before, but you have to stop think and start feel, okay?” He taps Sid’s chest. “Turn brain off, start feel your skates on ice, and how it feel in your body.”

“How do I do that?” 

“Close eyes.” 

“I’ll fall,” Sid protests.

“Won’t let you. Close eyes.” He waits until Sid finally follows orders and starts skating backwards again, tugging Sid with him. “Stop think, start feel.” 

During the first half of the lap Sid is just as stiff as he was during the previous, but then something happens. He lets out a rush of breath and then seems to will the tension out of his body. The next moment, he follows Geno around like he was born with skates on his feet. 

_ And then_, he lets Geno go and opens his eyes. They’re bright hazel now. He pushes past Geno on the ice, his strides maybe a bit rusty, but the skill is definitely there. 

Geno slows to a stop in the middle of the rink, watching Sid skate lap after lap around him, picking up the speed. 

“Look good!” Geno calls out to him and Sid _ laughs_, tipping his head back and grinning. 

“Race me!” Sid shouts and Geno has never been one to back down from a competition, so he takes off. 

While Sid is faster than he would’ve guessed, he’s currently no match for Geno. He’s caught up and ahead after half a lap and then slows slightly, just to allow Sid to keep up. When he stops, spraying snow mostly to show off, he watches Sid break a little too late and stumble into him. 

“Sorry,” Sid says, breathless and glowing. 

“Is fine.” Steadying him, Geno can’t help but stare down at him. “Look like you have fun,” he says. _ You look beautiful _ is what he means. 

“It was amazing.” Sid swallows and laughs. “I’m all out of breath. I think I used to like this a lot.”

“Think you like a lot now,” Geno points out and pushes Sid’s hair from his face before he can think too much about it. “We do again soon, yes?” 

“Please,” Sid says. “As often as you can bring me with you.” 

Sid is quiet in the car back home, but it’s in a content way and he hasn’t stopped smiling since they left the rink. 

“Can we have pasta for dinner?” he asks when they step through the door from the garage at home. 

It’s the first time he’s asked for food. 

Geno’s chest aches a little. “Of course.”

+

When he taught Sid some basic rules about flirting, he didn’t expect that it would come back to bite him in the ass a couple of weeks later. They’re out with the team again after another road trip win and Geno is nursing a beer when he notices the guy talking to Sid further away. 

He’s a hot guy; tall, blond, decent build. 

This isn’t the time he wants to see Sid so clearly _ realize _ that he’s being hit on and then flirt back. He’s smiling—one Geno hasn’t seen on him before, inviting and almost cocky—and he’s leaning into the guy’s space. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to hurt someone?” Flower asks and sits down on the armrest to the couch. 

“I’m not,” Geno says, but he can’t look away. The guy is touching Sid now, stroking his arm and stepping in closer. His entire body _ crawls _ with the urge to walk over there and yank him away from Sid. 

“Dude.” Flower elbows him in the temple. “Knock it off. If you want him you should tell him that.”

“I’m not want him,” Geno snaps and looks down at his bottle. It’s almost full. 

“Sure, okay.” He can hear the eyeroll in Flower’s voice. “Then stop being an asshole and let him have fun. This isn’t cool, dude.”

“You right,” Geno says and deflates, the jealous anger seeping away from him with every passing second. When he looks up at Sid this time, there’s nothing but an awful sadness overwhelming him. He gets up from the couch and puts his beer on the table, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I head back. You can tell him I leave extra key in front desk?” 

“You should tell him that yourself,” Flower says. “I think that guy is gonna get him a drink, so you can go talk him before you leave.”

“Not want to,” Geno mutters.

“Yeah, but you can’t be a huge fucking baby, so you’ll have to.” 

Sid smiles at him when he approaches. He looks pleased and maybe a bit excited. Geno wants to throw up. 

“I head back,” Geno says and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I leave extra key in front desk for you at hotel. You remember room number?”

“602?” Sid says and his smile falters as a frown grows on his face. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Is fine.” He tries smiling. Flower’s right; Sid deserves to have a good time. “Get better with sleep, yes? Be quiet when you get back.” 

“Geno,” Sid says and takes a step towards him, gaze searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

“No worry,” Geno says and looks away, Sid’s eyes are so big and concerned that Geno wishes he could make it go away. “Have good night. He's hot guy.”

He reaches out and gives Sid a pat on the arm and then immediately wishes he could undo, internally wincing over his own awkwardness. The air outside is cool, easing some of the strange aching tension from his throat. 

Flower is right. Sid can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants, and he made it very clear that Geno isn’t one of the people he wants to have sex with. 

He could grab a cab instead of walking back to the hotel, but this is a better way to clear his head. A while later, when he steps through the main doors, he’s somewhat calm. 

“Can you make key copy for roommate to grab here?” he asks the lady at the reception desk. 

“Did he lose his?” 

“No, is upstairs but he not bring and I think he’s be late, you know?” He pulls a face and she rewards him with a genuine smile. 

“I understand. Please let me borrow your key card for a moment.” 

It only takes a couple of minutes and he leaves Sid’s name and general description with her just in case. 

The room is empty without Sid in it. He’s always there. Geno is the one who’s away on practice, a night out with the guys, running some errands and whatnot, but Sid is _ always _ in the hotel room or in the house when he gets back. 

Except for tonight. No, tonight he’s with some guy who’s probably called Chad, who’s maybe both hot and funny. 

Geno’s not jealous. 

Getting in the shower, he closes his eyes and lets the spray beat the last of his frustration out of him. The water is borderline too hot, but the sore spot in his chest shrinks somewhat. His skin is red and dry when he steps out a long while later, and for once he picks up one of those small bottles of complimentary body lotion, just to keep his skin from itching tomorrow. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, he tosses his used clothes on the open suitcase and is just about to crawl into bed when he spots Sid. He’s sitting on his side of the bed, fully clothed and his hands clasped in his lap. 

Geno looks around for a clock, but there isn’t one in the room. “How long I’m in there?” he asks. 

“At least forty minutes,” Sid says. 

“How you know?”

“Because I’ve been waiting here for forty minutes. It’s probably longer if you took a cab back.” 

“I walk,” Geno says. 

“Maybe around forty, then,” Sid says and shrugs, as though this conversation was ever about how long Geno was in the shower. 

“Why you here?” Geno asks then instead of _ what happened with that guy_, which he’d both rather know and not at all at the same time, and gets in bed. This really isn’t a conversation he wants to have standing naked in a hotel room, when Sid is fully dressed.

Sid turns to face him, his expression solemn. “You were upset.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Sid says firmly. “You don’t have to tell me why if you don’t want to, but it felt important that I’m with you rather than there.” 

“Why you not with guy?” Geno asks before he can stop himself, and hurries to soften his tone when he adds, “You like him, no?”

Sid shrugs. “It’s more important that I’m here. With you.” 

He says it in such a simple way, as though those words don’t weigh a tonne. Geno’s ex-wife is a lovely woman and they had wonderful years together, but he can’t recall a single conversation where either of them so blatantly made the other their top priority. It was implied, sure, because they loved each other, but Sid’s words hit him like a truckload of bricks. 

“Thank you,” he says when he can find his words again and Sid rewards him with a small smile. “I’m appreciate it.”

“I know,” Sid says. “Is it okay if I go to bed too?”

“Why it not okay?”

“Tanger said that I might have to sleep on the couch? I don’t know what he was referring to, but maybe you’d told him that?”

“Tanger full with shit,” Geno sighs with an eye roll. “Of course you come to bed. It’s always most weird when you not here.” 

He lets himself watch Sid undressing. There’s a pattern to it; first his socks, then a thicker sweater or hoodie if he wears one, then his pants, and lastly his t-shirt before his underwear. It took a while for Geno to notice the routine, but it’s strangely comforting that some things are so predictable. 

“Why you have tattoos?” Geno asks. 

Sid looks down at himself, as though he’s never before noticed that a large portion of his body is decorated with them. “Oh. It’s almost like an anchor.”

“Anchor?”

Sid gets in bed too, pulling the covers to his waist. “Something to keep me here.”

It’s been a long time since Geno got chills from him speaking, but things have been mostly normal for a long time now and he tends to forget why Sid is truly here. It’s difficult to imagine this person sitting next to him in bed being the same as the guy who never slept, showered, ate or drank. 

“I keep you here,” Geno says without thinking. 

Sid tilts his head to the side, too-still again. A tiny smile tugs at his mouth. “Yeah.” 

Before Geno has a chance to reply, Sid frowns. 

“But why do you smell like peaches?” 

“What?” 

“You don’t smell like you usually do.”

“I don’t—” _ Oh. _ “Is maybe lotion?” 

Sid makes an inquisitive noise and leans closer, the tip of his nose brushing Geno’s throat as he breathes in. 

“I think you’re right. It’s stronger here.” 

Shivering, Geno pulls the covers tighter around himself and lies down to sleep. Sid is often in his space, but this gesture is so intimate for someone like Geno, but perhaps nothing but an action of curiosity from Sid. “Sorry, maybe you get use to.” 

“Can I turn off the lights?” Sid asks. “You’re not going to read, right?”

“Is fine if you want read.” 

“No, I don’t want that.” 

As soon as the room is too dark for Geno to see anything, something pleasant curls into a ball at the pit of his stomach, as Sid moves in closer. 

He can’t imagine that they need to sleep this close anymore, but he likes having Sid’s warmth against him. He can feel their connection as a comfortable pull at the back of his mind. 

“I like your real smell better,” Sid whispers, as if to himself, into the darkness of the room and Geno smiles.

+

It’s a week later when Geno wakes up in his bed at home, with Sid’s breath ghosting his neck and something hot pressing against his ass. 

_ What__—__oh fuck. _ His skin grows hot and his own dick plumps at the realization of Sid’s erection against him. They’ve slept together like this for a long time, and while Geno has woken up a few times at least half-hard, he just didn’t think it happened to Sid. 

His dick feels fat and Geno bites his lip to keep himself from grinding against it. Fuck, he needs to get off. 

Scrambling out of bed, he hurries into the shower. The water is too cold when he gets in, but he couldn’t care less right now. He grabs the body oil from the cut-out shelf in the tiled wall, and gets a hand on himself. 

If he keeps it down, he should be fine. 

For once, he allows himself to think of Sid’s ass and his full mouth, and the strength of his thighs. What he would look like on his back, stretched around Geno's dick and the sounds he'd make. The indulgence gets him off fast, and he comes to the image of Sid sucking his dick. 

Swearing under his breath, Geno rests his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes. This is bad. He can’t jerk off to Sid. That’s never going to end anywhere but in a catastrophe. 

He washes his hair while he’s at it, and puts on sweats and a t-shirt before leaving the bathroom. 

To his surprise, Sid’s sitting up in bed, knees bent slightly and with a weird flush on his face. 

“Oh, you showered,” he says and he must’ve just woken up, because he seems a bit out of it. 

“I wake up early.” Geno clears his throat. “You want breakfast?” 

“Pancakes?” Sid asks, perking up. 

Geno really should stick better to his meal plan. “Yes, okay.” 

The worst part is that it keeps happening after that. They’re both over thirty and Geno is pretty sure morning erections should’ve stopped happening so frequently by now. Sid clearly didn’t get the memo, because Geno keeps waking up to a hard, hot dick against his ass more often than not. 

He can’t remember when he jerked off this often. Every morning he’s so tempted to lube up his thighs and slip Sid’s dick between them, or turn over and get a hand on him. Every morning he goes to the bathroom and gets himself off in the shower as quickly as possible, and every morning Sid is awake when he comes back out. 

_ He has to know, _ Geno thinks. He’s always wide-eyed and a bit flushed, and maybe he’s embarrassed for Geno’s sake. It would make sense. 

One Wednesday morning, when Sid comes down to eat his breakfast, he says, “I’ve been living here for four months.”

Geno stills with his fork halfway to his mouth. “How you know?”

Sid shrugs. “I guess it was a big change for me, so I remembered.”

“Big day for me too,” Geno says. “Maybe tonight we celebrate.” 

“Celebrate?” Sid frowns. “Why?”

“Have hot guy live in my house for four month.” Geno grins. “He not know much about wear clothes, but he nice for have around.” 

Sid rolls his eyes. 

On his way home from practice, Geno stops by his favorite bakery to pick up the cheesecake that disappeared from his fridge in record speed a few weeks ago, and the bookstore to buy the second book in a series that Sid has been raving about lately. He already has a grocery bag with Sid’s favorite foods (kalamata olives, feta cheese, grapes and crab bites that probably contain a very low percentage of actual crab and a very high percentage of chemicals) in the trunk. 

“Home!” Geno calls when he closes the garage door behind him. 

The house is quiet when he comes home, but the connection at the back of his mind tells him Sid is somewhere close, so he doesn’t bother looking for him. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt with a squirrel that’s definitely from Geno’s side of the closet, and jeans. His hair looks damp, curling down over his forehead. 

“Hey,” Sid says and pauses in the doorway. His eyes grow big as he notices the food on the kitchen island. “What’s all this?” 

“I think is stuff you like?” Geno says and it comes out way more hopeful than confident. 

Sid walks closer and touches the jars and plates with his fingertip, eyes tracing the labels with rapt attention. He pauses at the cheesecake, looking up at Geno before staring down at it again. “G...this is _ everything _ I like.” 

“I hope.” He smiles, his chest contracting when Sid seems too overwhelmed by the food to say anything else. “You hungry?” 

“You know I am.” 

They eat mostly in silence, because Sid is too caught up in eating to keep conversation, but Geno is happy just to watch him enjoy himself. 

It’s after Sid has managed to also cram down half the cheesecake, and he’s dozing on the couch, his feet tucked under Geno’s thigh, that he suddenly jerks upright.

“I didn’t get you anything.” 

Blinking away from the screen showing the highlights of last night’s games, Geno frowns. “You not have to.” 

“I should’ve.” 

“No.” Geno reaches under the armrest cushion and pulls out the book. “I give you, because you help me so much. I get this also, I know you read first book maybe fifty time.” 

Sid gets on his knees, taking the book from his outstretched hands and strokes the cover with his thumb. 

“How do you notice these things?” he asks, looking up at Geno with awe in his eyes. 

Shrugging, Geno scratches his calf with his other foot. “When you care about person, you notice.” 

“Thank you,” Sid says quietly and then he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Geno’s mouth. He licks his lips as he pulls back, smiling a little. “I think I used to like that too.” 

“You’re not remember kissing anyone?” Geno asks. Didn’t Sid tell him just a little while back that he had sex with people whose connections he was breaking? 

“Not really,” Sid says, touching his lips with his fingertips. 

“You not kiss when you have sex?” Geno asks. 

Sid frowns and looks at him. “No.”

There are so many questions he wants to ask, but he isn’t sure he wants to know. “Okay.” 

+

The Helsinki airport is crowded and Geno is cowering in one of the many bathroom stalls. He’s been here for over an hour already, but Metallurg’s flight is scheduled to depart in two minutes. They might have pushed it because of him. 

Someone walks into the bathroom and he tenses, putting his foot against the door in case someone tries to open his stall, even though it’s locked. Whoever it is moves past him, tugging a suitcase behind them and wearing sweats—no one from Metallurg, then. 

He jerks when his phone buzzes in his pocket with an incoming call. There are several missed ones, all from his teammates and coaches, but this call is different. 

“They’ve departed,” Milstein says when Geno picks up. “Werner has a place for us to stay while we get your visa sorted.” 

“Where are you?” Geno asks in Russian. 

“Outside.” 

Frowning down at his phone, Geno hoists his backpack onto his shoulder and unlocks the stall door. His legs are stiff and his hands feel weak, but he hasn’t eaten for hours and the stress over hiding is taking its toll. 

He barely steps out of the bathroom when he spots Milstein over the crowd. 

“Did they really leave?” he asks. 

“All gone,” Milstein says. “Let’s go.” 

“I’d like to get something to eat first,” Geno says. “I’m really hungry.” 

“Not now, even if they’ve left, there are people looking for you.” 

He hesitates. The team would likely ask airport security to look for him and while they can’t exactly get him on an already-departed plane now, they might tell them where he is. The decision would be easier if his stomach wasn’t painfully empty and a McDonald’s wasn’t _ right there, _ calling for him with its golden M. 

“Can we stop somewhere on the way?” he asks. 

“Fine,” Milstein sighs. “Let’s go now.”

He grabs Geno’s arm and his nails dig into his muscle through the layers of his tracksuit. A chill runs down his spine. It’ll be nice laying down, resting up a bit. He’s used all of his energy and Milstein has to practically drag him along. 

The back of his mind itches, poking at him, but he can’t make sense of it. It must be the rush of his previous anxiety leaving his body. 

Around him, the faces of the people walking past seem to blur. Milstein’s iron grip on his arm pulls him along and the hunger in his stomach fades with every step he takes. 

_ Geno. _

Blinking, Geno slows and looks around. He could’ve sworn someone said his name. 

“What?” Milstein asks. 

“I thought someone said my name.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” 

“I heard _ Geno_,” he says. 

“Who’s Geno?”

Another chill runs down his spine, tickling something—a memory—that isn’t there. _ He’s _ Geno, he knows that. Why doesn’t Milstein? 

“Come _ on_,” Milstein mutters and pulls at his arm, hard enough to hurt. 

_ Geno_.

There it is again. He’s just about to point it out to Milstein, when he notices the wild glint in his eyes. It takes all of his willpower not to rear back. 

_ Get to the Oak Barrel. _

Looking around, Geno spots the bright blue restaurant front further down to the left. “I’m getting food,” he says and pulls his arm free. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“No,” Milstein protests. 

_ Act normal_. 

“I’ll be quick. I can’t wait until we’re outside, sorry.” He’s always had a strong head. No one would expect anything less. 

He has no idea what he’s doing when he goes inside the restaurant. There are people in two lines and he goes to stand in one of them, glancing over his shoulder. Milstein has stopped outside, staring at him. 

“Are you ready to go?” the guy in front of him asks in English without turning around. He sounds..._ that’s _ the same voice that called his name. 

“Who are you?” Geno asks, also in English, skin pebbling. 

“You know me,” the guy says without turning around. “But you don’t know him.”

“Milstein?” Geno resists the urge to look over again. “He my agent.” 

“Is he?” He asks the question in a light, friendly tone, but the words make Geno shudder. 

“Yes.” He swallows. Why does the name JP Barry come to mind? “No.”

The guy in front of him takes a step forward when the line moves. “Good. Touch my hand.” 

Geno looks down and the guy takes his hand from his pocket, letting it fall loosely against his side. There are too many people around them for Milstein to see them properly, and when the mom next to them pushes her stroller forward, Geno reaches out and grazes their hands together. 

He jolts, shaking as realization washes over him. _ “Sid.” _

“There you are. As soon as we’re out of sight, we’re leaving,” Sid says and puts his hand back in his pocket. “Just a couple more people. Act normal.”

_ Acting normal _ isn’t as easy when Geno knows how _ wrong _ all of this is. He tries to breathe. Sid is here and he’s going to get him out. Another person ahead of them in line pays and they shuffle forward. 

“What if he know?” Geno asks. 

“Just breathe.” 

“That’s not answer.”

“You don’t want one, trust me.” 

He does trust Sid. 

Just as another person in front of them pulls out their wallet to pay, he glances towards the entrance. Milstein is there, watching him with dark, predatory eyes. Geno looks away again, mustering all the energy and concentration he has to not give himself away. 

He remembers now; they can’t know that Sid is here to get him. He doesn’t know what will happen if they do, but he doesn’t want to find out. 

Finally, the person at the register moves on and he follows Sid forward. The pillar blocks them from Milstein’s view and the next thing he knows, Sid grabs his hand and tugs hard. 

Gasping, Geno fights off the duvet and Sid’s hands from his body. 

“Hey, hey,” Sid says. “Calm down. You’re home and you’re safe.”

Geno looks around and there are his bedroom lamps and thick curtains. There are the clothes he left in a heap on the floor last night. There’s the pile of books Sid has finished. 

_ Sid. _

He turns over in bed and Sid is on his knees on the mattress, body glistening from sweat and his hair flat against his forehead. He’s breathing hard, hands shaking, and his eyes are dark as he stares down at Geno. 

“Sid,” Geno breathes. 

“Are you okay?” Sid sits back on his haunches, sucking in a breath and closing his eyes briefly. 

“I think yes.” Geno swallows. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Sid shakes his head. “Just very drained.” 

“How you know where I am?” 

“You’ve told me where you’ve gone before and they’ve all been important places in your life. I tried the Igloo first, but then I remembered your escape to the NHL.” 

“Thank you,” Geno whispers. “Why I’m not remember?”

“You did,” Sid says. “Faster than I expected.” 

“I’m not remember before I see you.” 

“But you heard me and you trusted me,” Sid says. “That’s important.”

“I’m almost leave airport,” Geno protests. “Don’t lie. I know is bad.”

Sid watches him for a long moment. “It’s not bad. Our connection just isn’t strong enough.” 

Closing his eyes, Geno does his best to not give in to the burning hopelessness spreading in his chest. He won’t make it. Sid can’t save him. 

“G,” Sid says and a warm hand lands on his cheek. “We’re not giving up.”

“We do _ everything_,” he protests. “It still not work.”

“Look at me.”

Geno does, because he can’t deny Sid anything. He’s beautiful like this, in the greyscale of the night. But he’s always beautiful, isn’t he? 

“We haven’t tried everything,” Sid says, his expression solemn. 

It takes a second before Geno understands, but then his heart kickstarts. “Sex?” 

“Only—” Sid breaks off with a sigh. “Only if you want to. We can find some other way, I’m sure. It’s a fast track. You can think about it and let me know if it’s something you’d like to try.” 

Sid talks about it as though it’s a car option and not something so very intimate. Perhaps it isn’t to him. 

“Okay,” Geno says. His instinct is to have sex with Sid right this very moment, like he’s been jerking off to for a long time now. If they do, though, there will be no turning back in their relationship. Something will forever change, and while this is strictly business for Sid, Geno isn’t so sure he can say the same for himself.

By some miracle, he falls back asleep after a long, hot shower and a fresh set of sheets. The last puzzle piece that makes him completely relax is Sid crawling into bed again after his own shower, moving in close under the covers. 

Geno wakes early when the sky is still grey and Sid’s deep breaths tickle the skin on his shoulder. If sex is a fast track, maybe it’s the better option even if he ends up too invested. He’s survived a broken heart before. He might not even end up falling for Sid anyway. Anything is better than being dead. 

His stomach clenches when Sid presses in close and his hard dick nudges Geno’s ass. 

“Why are you awake?” Sid mumbles against his skin. 

“I decide.”

“‘Bout what?” 

“We have sex.”

Sid stills. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” 

Sid pulls back and moves around in bed. Geno rolls over his back and watches him dig through Geno’s nightstand drawer until he finds the bottle of lube that’s been untouched since Sid moved in. He stares as Sid pushes away the duvet and gets on his knees, squeezing out lube in his hand and then reaches behind himself. 

“What you doing?” Geno asks, even though he knows _ exactly _ what Sid’s doing. 

“Get yourself hard,” Sid says and nods towards Geno’s crotch. 

“We not have sex?” Geno asks. 

“We’re about to, but I can’t exactly sit on your soft dick, can I?”

Swallowing, Geno reaches down for his own half hard dick despite his own confusion. “You not want foreplay?” 

“What’s that?” Sid asks and then his brow furrows for a second, before he lets out a small sigh, making Geno’s stomach clench and his dick to get harder in his hand. Sid doesn’t seem to want a reply, because he says, “Show me. I need to see how big you are.” 

It’s matter-of-fact and not any kind of dirty talk, but Geno’s dick twitches anyway. He kicks off the duvet and Sid’s eyes roam all over him. 

“That’s a lot,” Sid says and pours more lube in his hand, before he starts fingering himself again. Geno wishes he could see, but Sid is facing him, his fat dick hard and curving up against his taut stomach. 

“Can go slow,” Geno says. 

Sid nods and a pink flush spreads down his chest slowly as the wet sounds from his fingers grow more obscene. “I’m almost ready.” 

He lets out a soft groan, perhaps taking another finger, and then palms the head of his dick. Geno can’t stop watching him. He hasn’t had more disjointed sex since his early days and probably shouldn’t find this at all hot, but he’s been thinking about this for so long that he barely finds it in him to care. 

“Ready?” Sid asks and his gaze lingers on Geno’s dick. 

“_You _ ready?” Geno counters. 

“Yeah.” Sid licks his lips and then hands him the lube. “Here.”

If he wasn’t so desperate after being sexually frustrated for half an eternity, he might’ve been turned off, but now his dick twitches in anticipation. He’s just about to ask how Sid wants it, when Sid straddles him, staring down intently as Geno lubes himself up.

Sid knocks his hand away and grasps his dick, holding it steady as he scoots up further and then supports himself on Geno’s chest with his other hand, slowly pressing down. 

He’s so tight and Geno wants to shut his eyes and revel in the feeling of Sid taking his dick, but he can’t stop watching Sid’s face. His mouth is half-open and there’s a crease between his brows. 

“Okay?” Geno asks and strokes Sid’s thighs. 

Freezing momentarily, Sid looks down where Geno is touching him, but before he can let go, Sid moves again. He makes a little sound. “Yeah.”

He goes slowly, just as Geno suggested, taking a bit at a time and then moving back up before taking more. It’s excruciating in the best of ways. Geno can only lie there and watch, keeping his hips still and leting Sid do it at his own pace. 

Geno is sweating and his fingers might’ve left bruises on Sid’s hips and thighs by the time Sid’s fully seated. He’s the hottest thing Geno’s ever seen like this, hair wild and pupil’s blown, his mouth puffy and red after worrying his lips. 

“You’re so big,” Sid says, his voice strained, but his dick is hard and wet at the tip. 

“Think you like.” Geno strokes him once, thumbing the head of his dick, and Sid gasps. 

Sid stares down at him and then puts his own hand over Geno’s where it’s resting on his thighs. He grinds down and Geno lets his head fall back, groaning. It’s been so long and Sid feels so good, and when he rolls his hips again, it’s clear that he knows this part so well. 

The next time Sid takes him deep, Geno meets him and he doesn’t care that he’s loud. 

“You like that?” Sid asks, a little out of breath. 

“So good,” Geno manages. He’s close already, embarrassingly so. 

Sid keeps a torturous pace, enough to make Geno moan and meet his every grind, but not enough to bring him off. There are drops of precome all over Geno’s stomach, and Sid is flushed all the way down over his chest. 

Digging his fingers into Sid’s thighs and hips, Geno urges him on, groaning when Sid lets out a whine and his dick visibly twitches. 

“I can jerk you off?” he groans when Sid takes him deep again. 

“Yes,” Sid says and his eyes fall shut for the first time when Geno strokes down the length of his dick. It’s heavy and hot in his hand, and Sid stutters in his pace. _ “Oh.” _

Licking his lips, Geno lets Sid fuck his fist and watches him gradually lose his composure. He lets out low, needy sounds that maybe wouldn’t be much if he hadn’t been almost quiet up until now. Picking up the pace, Sid clutches Geno’s hold on his hip with one hand, and drags the other over his face as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You close?” Geno asks and just like that, he remembers his own desperation. His stomach tightens, balls drawing up against his body and _ fuck_, he really wants Sid to come first. 

“Yeah, I think_—_” And then Sid’s body tenses and he comes all over Geno’s stomach and throat, shaking as he keeps grinding down. 

“Sid,” he manages as some kind of warning, but Sid just pushes down again, nodding. With a groan, Geno comes too, pulling Sid down against him for some kind of comfort. 

He can feel Sid’s breath slowing against his shoulder and the come cooling on his skin, but he’d rather have an excuse to stay like this for longer. 

A while later, Sid moves off him and heads for the bathroom. Geno stares at the ceiling. They just had sex and it was the least intimate they’ve been since Sid started touching him. It was still good. Perhaps that says something about his levels of desperation. 

He looks up when Sid comes back out from the bathroom. There’s nothing different about him now when he gets back in bed, moving in close as though they’re people who have sex all the time. 

“We can sleep for a bit longer, right?” Sid asks around a yawn. 

“What’s time?” 

“Six a.m.” 

“Okay, couple more.” 

For someone who used to not sleep at all, Sid is out like a light right away. It takes a while before Geno can do the same. He wakes again to the mattress moving and the cold rush of air, as Sid gets out of bed. 

“Where you go?” he grumbles and rolls over in the warm spot Sid leaves behind. 

“Breakfast,” Sid says. “D’you want some?” 

The thought of food makes him groan, but he’s too tired to even consider getting out of bed. He’s drifting when the smell of bacon reaches him, and then a warm hand stroking his hair. 

“I brought you breakfast.”

_ What__— _ Cracking an eye open, Geno takes in the tray of food balancing on the nightstand, and Sid’s naked thigh next to him on the bed. 

“You make breakfast?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” Sid’s hand is still in his hair. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Most,” Geno says and rolls over on his back to force himself fully awake. “Thank you.” 

Sid smiles, soft and maybe a bit shy. “You’re welcome.” 

They eat sitting up in bed with the tray between them. Sid is all soft curls and smiles, and Geno has no idea how to handle it. It’s not that Sid behaves any differently now than before the sex this morning, it’s just that maybe everything is. The pull at the back of his mind feels stronger now, like a strong anchor whenever they’re in close proximity, and fuck, he really wishes there was an excuse for them to have sex again. 

“You’re very quiet,” Sid points out.

Shrugging, Geno takes a big sip from his glass of juice. “Lot on mind.” 

“Can you feel it?” Sid tilts his head to the side, considering. 

He doesn’t have to ask what Sid means. “Yes.”

“Good.”

It hits him then that maybe this is all one-sided. “You can too?”

“Can what?” Sid looks up from his plate. 

“Feel it?”

Licking salty grease from his fingertips, Sid nods. “Of course I can.” 

“How it feel for you?”

“New.” 

That says absolutely nothing and somehow everything at the same time. 

+

“What we wait for?” Geno asks a week later when they’re eating dinner. 

“What do you mean?”

“Why we can’t break it yet?” 

Sid sucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and makes a considering noise. “We definitely made the connection more stable, but it’s not strong enough for us to break the other one yet.” 

Geno’s stomach plummets. 

“Hey,” Sid says softly. “It’ll be okay. It just needs some time to get a bit stronger. I don’t want to risk anything by trying the break too soon.” 

“It seem hopeless,” Geno sighs and pushes away his plate. “Have to get some air.” 

He sits down in the wooden lawn chair on the back patio, and stares out over his property. The grass is getting green again, and the trees are growing leaves. It used to be his favorite time of the year, but he can’t feel anything resembling joy right now. 

It’s been five months since Sid moved in with him and things look even more dire now. At first, there was a connection to establish and he had weird dreams constantly. It felt like they were going somewhere and like things were headed in the right direction. Now they’re at an impasse, and Geno’s not a patient guy. 

A tiny part of his brain whispers that maybe it’s already lost, but Sid doesn’t want to tell him. The mere thought causes his stomach to turn and his heart to race. He needs to call his Mama.

She picks up on the second ring, even though it’s late in Russia. 

“Mama,” he whispers.

“Zhenya, what’s wrong?” 

He chokes on a sob.

It’s dark when he hangs up, and he’s shivering from the cold. He rubs the dried tears from his cheeks and pockets his phone. The best idea would be to go inside rather than staying out here, where the only lights are from the tiny lanterns scattered across his lawn. Even the windows on this side of the house are dark. 

“Hey.” 

He jumps, even though Sid’s voice is quiet and soft. When he looks up, Sid is standing in the doorway, only his head poking outside as though asking for permission. 

“Did you hang up?” Sid asks. 

Nodding, Geno looks away again. His face must be swollen and he’s not going to deny how afraid he is. Sid might be able to tell anyway, through their connection. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He can hear the creak of the patio when Sid steps out. 

“Not much for talk about,” Geno says. 

“Okay.” Sid hesitates for a second, but then sits down on the long stretch of the lawn chair. “I put your dinner in the fridge so you can heat it up if you want.”

“I am dying?” Geno asks. 

“What?”

“We already lost?” he clarifies.

“Lost what?”

Geno chews his lip as he tries to put the words together in English. It’s always more difficult so soon after speaking Russian. “I feel like we go nowhere. I start think maybe you can’t help but you not want tell me I’m dying.” 

“G…” Sid strokes his thigh, his expression serious but not dire. “If you were a lost cause, I’d tell you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Sid scoots up, grasping his hand. “I told you before that this is harder than it normally is, because your other connection was already so established when I got to you. Normally those connections are new and fragile when I get in the picture, and I don’t have to do much to establish a stronger connection with the person who needs the Separation.”

“But you can?”

“I think so,” Sid says. “I _ still _ think so. Our connection has grown a lot stronger and it keeps getting stronger still. Your other connection has stagnated, but it had a head start. We’re catching up fast, but I want to get ahead before I try to break it. Sometimes those connections have a last rush in them before they’re gone, you know? I don’t want to risk that happening and then losing.”

“I’m scared,” Geno says. “So much.”

“I know.” Sid squeezes his fingers. “It’s okay to be scared.” 

Sid seems so human to him now, with his bright, hazel eyes and the way he strokes his thumb over Geno’s fingers. He’s nothing like the guy that almost broke Geno’s hand when pulling him from that slip in his old locker room. 

He reaches out to touch Sid’s cheek but stops himself halfway. Instead he pulls at the neckline of Sid’s t-shirt until it’s centered. 

“You know who you are before this?” he asks. 

Sid looks away. “No. I get, I don’t know what to call them, _ ideas _ sometimes? I wouldn’t call them memories or anything like that, but sometimes I feel like I get an idea of who I used to be. I never thought about it before, but it’s crossed my mind a few times lately.” 

“Why you think that is?”

Sid hesitates. “The connection goes both ways. I’ve never kept one with someone else for this long. Sooner or later, I figure it has to take effect one way or another.” 

“You never say connection will also affect you,” Geno says. “When we meet and you agree to help, you never say.”

“I know.” Sid looks up at him. “I was intrigued. After a while, you start to think you’ve seen all there is and your case was a challenge for me. It never occurred to me that something could happen to me other than the obvious.” 

“Obvious?”

“Death.” Sid shrugs. “If I try to break the other connection and fail, causing ours to break instead, one of us will die. It’s most likely you, but we can never know for sure.” 

Geno swallows and his mind starts swirling again, pulse picking up. 

“Let’s make sure it never comes to that,” Sid says and makes to get up. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re really cold and if you’re not hungry you’re possessed by someone else, because you barely ate anything for dinner.”

“Sid,” Geno says and tugs at his hands to make him sit down again. “Thank you.”

Sid searches his face and then smiles. “You’re welcome.” 

Without thinking, Geno leans in and kisses him. 

Sid’s mouth is unmoving under his and Geno starts pulling away, when Sid lets out a small sound, grabs the front of his shirt and whispers. “No, come back.” 

He goes slow, loving the way Sid gradually seems to remember how kissing works; how his lips part just so, how he moves into it, how his hands come to rest at Geno’s waist. They kiss for a long time, but Sid doesn’t seem to tire of it either. 

Geno doesn’t pull away until the hunger eats away at his stomach. He cups Sid’s face, pushing the hair from his forehead and smiles as Sid blinks his eyes open. 

“Still think you use to like kissing?” Geno asks. 

“Yeah,” Sid says, a little breathless. “And I like it now.” 

“I understand. I’m best kisser.” 

Sid snorts and shakes his head. “Let’s get you some food before you become completely insufferable.” 

Reheating his dinner, Geno eats quickly and Sid’s eyes are on him the entire time. 

“What?” he asks with his mouth full of mushroom risotto. 

“Just thinking about the kiss,” Sid admits as though he’s talking about what he needs to pack for the next road trip. 

Swallowing and clearing his throat, Geno licks his lip. “Why you think about?”

“I don’t know.” Sid shrugs. “It keeps popping up, I guess?”

“But you still like, no?” 

Sid nods slowly, maybe far away in thought. “Yes. A lot.” 

His lips are so full and Geno has to look away to be able to concentrate on his dinner. “Can kiss more after dinner if you want.” 

“Why?” Sid asks. 

“Because you like.” Geno takes a sip from his glass of water. “And I like too.” 

Sid gives him a rueful smile.

“What?” Geno prompts.

“I keep forgetting that I can do things simply because I like them. No other purpose needed, you know?”

“I help remind you.” 

They make out like teenagers in bed. It’s been a long while since Geno kissed someone, without migrating to other activities, for such an extent of time. His lips feel raw and swollen when Sid moves into him, gasping as his hard dick grazes Geno’s thigh. 

“You want help with that?” Geno asks, his voice rough. He’s hard too, but Sid has been so enamored by making out and well, so has he. 

Sid looks up at him, pupils blown and his mouth red. “Sex?” 

“If you want?” Geno pulls away slightly, far enough to give Sid some room to feel like he can say no, but not so much that he feels rejected. 

“Okay,” Sid says and reaches for the nightstand, but Geno stops him. “What?”

“We can try my way?” he asks. 

“Your way?” Sid echoes. 

“I’m show you how I like sex?” he offers. “You let me know if you not like.” 

Sid licks his bottom lip. “Okay, yeah, show me what you like.”

He starts by rolling Sid over on his back and kissing his throat and just below his ear. At first, Sid is a bit stiff, but then his hands come up to Geno's neck and shoulder, and he lets out a sigh. Taking his time, Geno maps Sid’s body with his mouth, pulling off his shirt and grazing Sid’s nipples first with his thumb and then with his lips, making Sid tense and immediately relax underneath him. 

“Do it again,” Sid says, but Geno kisses him everywhere else, ignoring his own hard dick and the obvious wet spot on Sid’s underwear. “Please,” Sid whines finally. 

“You like?” Geno asks and looks up at him, grazing Sid’s nipple again, and his gut clenches when Sid squirms. 

“Yeah.” Sid whines when Geno gets his mouth on him again. _ “Oh.” _

This time, he gets to prepare Sid. Kissing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, sucking the head of his dick as he fingers him open. Making him sloppy and wet, pulling sounds from him that has Geno squeezing the base of his own dick to keep himself under control. 

Sid is already pretty out of it, breathing hard, flushed all over, when Geno crooks his fingers just so. 

_ “Fuck.” _ Sid keens, clenching Geno’s shoulder almost painfully and his toes curling into the mattress, but he doesn’t come even though his dick dribbles more precome onto Geno’s tongue. 

He lets it go, licking down the length to Sid’s balls and tracing the wet rim of his ass with his thumb. 

“Geno,” Sid whimpers. 

Looking up at him, he’s glorious_—_glistening with sweat and the muscles on his stomach contracting visibly under his skin when Geno licks down his perineum. 

“You feel good?” Geno asks, pulling his fingers out to press his mouth to Sid’s hole. He’s always loved doing this and Sid lets out a shocked moan, his legs falling open wider and Geno takes what he’s offered even though the angle is bad on his neck. Licking and kissing, his mouth feels raw and the taste of lube isn’t great, but the sounds Sid makes _ are_. He sounds like he’s been broken, making wet, needy sounds and he grabs Geno’s hand where it’s resting on the covers. 

“Please,” Sid manages finally, his voice raw. 

“What you want?” Geno asks, wiping his mouth on Sid’s thigh and then sitting back on his haunches between Sid’s spread legs. There’s a puddle of precome on Sid’s stomach, and his dick is flushed dark. He lubes up his fingers again before pushing them back into Sid, but there’s no resistance now, just the eager moan that Sid lets out. “What you want, Sid?” he asks again. 

“Fuck me,” Sid whimpers and opens his eyes, before they fall shut again. “Hard.”

Sid is still so tight around his dick when he pushes in, and Geno goes slow, watching the slack-jawed pleasure on Sid’s face. 

“Tell me how you feel,” he says to distract himself from how good it is. 

“Like I’m gonna come any second,” Sid groans and clenches his jaw, his legs tensing around Geno’s waist. “I’m so full.” 

“Don’t come yet,” Geno says and leans down to kiss his swollen mouth, before he starts fucking Sid slow and deep. “Hold out little bit longer.”

“I _ can’t_.” Sid reaches for his dick, but Geno grasps his wrist and presses it down in the mattress over his head. 

“Just little bit,” he urges and shifts his hips, changing the angle slightly until Sid’s face screws up and he _ sobs_. “You feel so good.” 

“Don’t stop.” Sid makes punched-out _ ah-ah-ahs _ every time Geno pushes into him, and he can’t keep himself from going harder, his own desperation to come growing. 

He lets go of Sid’s wrist and plants his hands on the mattress, fucking Sid hard and deep, sweat dripping down his back. 

“Show me,” he groans when Sid grasps his own dick. 

Sid doesn’t need much, and when he comes, his entire body tenses and it takes all Geno has to not come right away. He fucks Sid through it, watching as he comes so hard he almost stripes his own face. 

He slows when Sid starts whimpering, thinking that maybe he’s too sensitive, but Sid pulls him down for a sloppy kiss and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

A moment later, Geno comes too, pressing his face against Sid’s throat, groaning. He lets Sid take his weight for a moment, their skin sticking together, and ragged breaths calming with every second that passes. 

Getting up on his elbows, Geno takes in the look on Sid’s face. He’s still flushed and his lips are swollen, but his eyes are big and bright. 

“Okay?” Geno asks, kissing Sid’s forehead and pushing his hair back. 

“I didn’t—” Sid starts and breaks off. “I didn’t think it could be like that.” 

“In good way?” Geno asks just to make sure. 

Sid laughs breathlessly. “So good.” 

“Can do again when you want.” Geno looks him over and there are a few places where he’s left a mark; a tender spot under the hinge of Sid’s jaw and just below his left collarbone. He reaches out and traces the part of Sid’s tattoo that snakes down his outer thigh, the dark ink a stark contrast against his winter-pale skin. 

“I can’t tell if you like them or not,” Sid says and Geno looks up. 

“They part of you,” Geno replies, because he can’t tell either. They’re a reminder of Sid being a part of something he can never fully understand. That _Sid _ is someone he can never fully know. “Maybe we go clean up before fall asleep.” 

The shower in the master bath has two shower heads and while Geno pictured them close together under the spray, perhaps kissing and touching to keep the glow a bit longer, Sid definitely did not. 

“I never understood why there were two before,” Sid says as he turns on the other showerhead. 

Shaking his head, smiling to himself, Geno says, “Is very convenient.” 

Afterwards, Sid rolls over on his side and reaches behind him. Geno presses a kiss to his neck as he moves in close, pulling up the duvet around them. 

+

There are things Sid discovers that he doesn’t like as well. Geno comes home one afternoon after practice to Sid meeting him in the door to the garage with red, teary eyes and a knife in his hand. 

“Why does it _ do _ this?” he asks, blinking furiously. 

“What?” Geno asks, alarmed. 

_ “Onions.” _

Laughing, Geno locks the car and pushes Sid back into the kitchen as he goes inside the house. 

“Why are you _ laughing? _ This is awful. It hurts and I feel like I also want to gag.” 

“Yes is worst,” Geno agrees and takes the knife from Sid to finish cutting. No wonder his eyes are running, there are already several chopped onions in a bowl. “What you make?” 

“Greek beef patties,” Sid mutters behind him. 

“Sound great, need help?” He looks over his shoulder to find Sid pouting. It’s a new expression on him and Geno isn’t _ prepared. _Putting the knife down on the chopping board, he presses soft, chaste kisses to Sid’s lips until they soften into a smile against his. 

“Help sounds good,” Sid whispers and pulls him down for a real kiss. 

That evening, he lets Sid fuck his mouth until he comes. He’s kneeling over Geno’s chest, one hand on the headboard for leverage and the other in Geno’s hair, holding him in place. The look on Sid’s face and the sounds he makes is enough for Geno to bring himself off with his hand. 

The next morning he lubes up the inside of Sid’s thighs, kissing the soft skin of his neck and shoulder as he lazily jerks Sid off in time with his own thrusts, and then they both fall back asleep for another couple of hours. 

They don’t talk about what this means, but Geno doesn’t need that. Sid initiates sex just as often as he does; always eager, always loud, always completely out of it afterwards. That’s Geno’s favorite part, when Sid is soft and pliant, snuggling in as if he’s craving the closeness. He always lets out a sigh that sounds so incredibly pleased whenever Geno kisses him then. 

Sid quickly learns what he likes when it comes to sex too, eagerly moving over to his hands and knees, asking Geno to fuck him, because he can come untouched like that. Or when he makes Geno sit up against the headboard when he comes home late after a night out with the team, and Sid can’t stop kissing him while riding him so, so frustratingly slow that always makes Geno unravel. 

It’s a Saturday and Geno is tightening his tie when Sid shows up behind him, hands snaking around his waist, dipping just inside the button of his slacks. “Hey.” 

“Have to go,” Geno says and reaches down to stop Sid’s hand from venturing any further. 

“I know,” Sid says, hooking his chin over Geno’s shoulder. “Are you going out after the game?”

“Not think so.” Geno reaches out for a tie pin. “Is day game, so too early for drinks.” 

“Maybe we could watch a movie tonight, then?” 

He catches Sid’s gaze in the mirror and he looks so hopeful. 

“Okay, you choose. I can pick up food on way home.” 

“Sounds good.” Sid pulls away and hands him the suit jacket when he turns around. “I’ll be at the game, but I’ll go back home afterwards.”

_ Home. _

“Okay,” Geno says and gives him a quick kiss before he can think better of it. “See you after game.” 

He can sense Sid’s presence in the crowd during warm-ups. It’s a comfort now. Sometimes he checks just to make sure that it’s still there, a new routine of sorts. 

The game is rough against the Blue Jackets. Both Guentzel and Schultz leave the game early because of injuries and Geno spends too many minutes in the penalty box. They go into OT and he’s just about ready to throw his gloves when Horny manages to squeeze in a goal.

He’s still keyed up when he comes home, his hair damp and his wrist hurting slightly from the slash he took during the third period. Putting the take out bag from the best Russian restaurant in the city on the counter, he loosens his tie and puts the car keys in the bowl. 

“Home,” he calls and almost jumps when Sid shows up in the doorway to the kitchen, too-quiet. 

“How’s your hand?” he asks. 

“Right wrist ache, but nothing broken,” he says and grimaces when Sid squeezes just where it hurts.

“Sorry,” Sid says and loosens his grip. “I’m glad you won.” 

“So angry all game,” he mutters and leans in when Sid pulls his fingers through his hair. “I think referee on vacation, he put _ me _in box when half their team is foul play.” 

Sid bites his lip, but his eyes are crinkling at the corners. 

“What?” Geno prompts. 

“I hate to tell you, but you weren’t exactly playing clean either,” Sid says and laughs when Geno frowns. “But you weren’t as bad as them, of course.”

“I think you on _ my _ team,” Geno mutters, but he has a hard time actually being upset when Sid’s eyes are glittering from humor. 

“I’m gonna tell you like it is, though.” Sid kisses him. “I’m really hungry. What did you get?”

They eat in the den as they watch the movie Sid picked out. It’s based on a true story about some Olympic runner that Geno hasn’t heard of and he’s too tired to really pay attention to what’s happening on the screen. Sid, however, is so enraptured that his food is turning cold, because he keeps forgetting to eat. 

“I take dishes,” Geno says when the plates and containers are empty. 

“You want me to pause the movie?” Sid asks.

“Is fine.” He’s stacking everything into an unsteady pile—if he doesn’t have to make more than one round he’s happy—when Sid says,

“Can you bring the chocolate from the fridge on the way back?”

Geno finds the bars in the fridge door and pulls a face over Sid’s weird tastes, but if Sid wants chocolate with fruit in it, then so be it. He brings a gatorade for himself and a bottle of sparkling water for Sid and then settles in against the armrest of the couch, his socked feet in Sid’s lap. 

It’s been a long time since he had this with someone and he’s missed it. He’s missed having someone to come home to, someone to skip out on party nights for, someone who teases him when he needs it and just listens when he doesn’t. 

This is more to him now than it was before. Having sex with Sid isn’t great only because he’s a hot guy who likes mostly the same things Geno does. It’s more, because he feels more. He likes the confined closeness when Sid is with him on road trips. He loves coming home to the sounds of him poking around in the house.

Looking away, he swallows and tries to will away the lump in his stomach. 

He should tell Sid about it at some point. It can’t be a big deal—he’s not blind, they’re both acting like they can’t get enough of one another—but he doesn’t like feeling vulnerable. After his divorce a part of his confidence was been stripped away, like he can no longer trust himself to always make the best choices and know what’s right. He doesn’t regret his marriage, but he went into it with the idea of it lasting a lifetime. And it didn’t. 

He blinks back to reality by Sid spitting something into a napkin with a disgusted look on his face. 

“What happen?” Geno asks, sitting up. 

“This is disgusting,” Sid says and crumples the napkin in his hand. 

“What?” 

“The chocolate.” Sid points at the open chocolate bar on the table. “I thought I’d love it. I like fruit and I like chocolate, so I figured it’d be the perfect combination.”

Geno bursts out laughing and laughs even harder when Sid shoots him a betrayed look. “No one like chocolate with fruit. Only old people.” 

“How am I supposed to know that?!” Sid demands. “You could’ve told me!”

“You like lot of weird stuff,” Geno says, holding up his hands. “I think this just other weird thing you like.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Sid frowns and pushes the chocolate bar further away on the table with his foot. “I’ll go look for something else. I saw a packet of Reeses yesterday.”

He gets up from the couch, but Geno grabs his arm and pulls him down again. “Reeses is mine. Can’t eat my candy because you buy gross.” 

Sid laughs and struggles when Geno wraps his arms around him, trying to hold him in place. It would be a lost cause, with Sid being so ridiculously stocky and strong, if he didn’t know how helpless and giggly Sid becomes when tickled.

It might be a dirty play, but honestly, he can’t get enough of the mix of honking giggles and the silent, desperate laughter Sid lets out whenever Geno digs in his fingers between his ribs. 

“Stop,” Sid manages finally. “I give up, stop.” 

Geno does and lets Sid catch his breath. His own is punched right out of him when Sid gets up on his elbows, cheeks flushed and eyes impossibly bright. His hair is a mess. 

“Beautiful,” Geno hears himself say and Sid’s flush deepens. 

“Why do you say that?” Sid asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“Because is true.” Geno reaches up at traces Sid’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Most beautiful I see.” 

Sid’s response is a searing kiss that makes Geno’s stomach turn liquid and his dick fatten up. They have sex right there, with Geno jerking them both off and Sid panting into his mouth, unwilling to stop kissing. 

He traces Sid’s back through his t-shirt afterwards, breathing in the smell of his hair and revelling in the way his heartbeat can be felt against his own ribs. 

“I’m still gonna get the Reeses,” Sid mumbles against his chest. “In a bit.” 

Geno smiles to the ceiling, his chest suddenly tight and overstuffed. “Okay, maybe I share with you.” 

\+ 

“How’s everything with Sid going?” Flower asks him when they’re out eating dinner in Pittsburgh. Sid didn’t want to tag along, having found a new book series that’s completely hooked him, and he spent a lot of time with the team during the last road trip anyway. 

“Good,” Geno says and his stomach drops. “Maybe too good.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Think I love him,” Geno admits. 

Flower makes a _ duh _ face. “And?”

“We not talk about it. It’s too much risk, you know?”

“What’s a risk?” Flower taps his fingers against the table. “That you’ll be too busy fucking to remember why he lives with you in the first place?”

Geno rolls his eyes. 

“You’re right,” Flower says as if Geno’s just made a good point. “I think you’re about as busy fucking as you can possibly be. Hotel walls are pretty thin, man.” 

“It’s good sex,” Geno says and shrugs. He’s the wrong person for Flower to try and make embarrassed over the team hearing him having sex. “No, risk is him not feel same way. Maybe everything ruin.” 

Flower looks at him in disbelief. “You’re serious right now?”

“Why you rude all conversation?!” Geno bristles. 

“I think _ anyone _ can tell how he feels about you. He’s so gone on you.” 

“How you know?” So what if he’s fishing for reassurance? 

“One, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Two, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Three, I’ve seen the way he loo—”

“Fuck you,” Geno interrupts. 

“No, I’m serious, Geno.” Flower leans forward on his elbows. “If he doesn’t feel the same way for you, he’s a really good actor and considering how awkward he used to be, I don’t think that’s the case.” 

Nodding, Geno pokes at his food. He’s not hungry, but he should eat. 

“If this is bothering you, you should talk to him.” 

“Maybe,” Geno says and sighs. “Maybe I can ignore and it solve itself.” 

“Yeah, that usually works so well,” Flower says dryly and Geno can’t help but smile down at his plate.

Flower’s words echo through his mind over the next few days. He looks at Sid with new eyes; how he acts, when he smiles, the way he touches. It’s one morning when Sid crawls on top of him, kissing him breathless and grinding their bodies together until they’re both desperate, that Geno makes up his mind. Sid has to feel something too. 

The same evening, when Geno comes back home after practice and media, Sid is waiting in the kitchen with homemade lasagna that smells like maybe he’s added a little too much garlic, but incredible all the same. He looks at Geno with an odd stiffness to his shoulders. 

“Everything okay?” Geno asks as he shrugs out of his coat and drops the keys in the bowl. 

“Fine.” Sid plasters on a smile. “You’re hungry, right? I made dinner.” 

Everything is decidedly not fine, then. They eat in silence and Geno waits for whatever it is that Sid wants to say. However, it’s not until they’re loading the dishwasher that Sid straightens with the detergent pod in his hand and says,

“I think I can try breaking the connection in a couple of days.”

Geno freezes, staring at Sid’s tense back. “What?”

He watches Sid taking a slow breath before he turns around, a stiff smile plastered to his lips. “It’s strong enough for us to break the other one. We can try after your game on Sunday. Great news, eh?”

Reaching out to steady himself against the counter, Geno looks down at the open dishwasher and then out the window. “Great. Yes.” 

“I think we can do it now, but I want to be sure.”

“After game on Sunday is good.” It’s so soon. It’s what he wanted all along, what he’s been waiting for, but it’s too soon. 

“Great.” Sid takes the cutlery from his hand and puts them in the dishwasher as well. “I figure you’d want to tell people and maybe have some of them here when it happens.”

“Okay, yes.” Geno nods, his mind swimming. “What happen after?”

“You might be tired,” Sid says, looking questioning. “That’s why I wanted you to have the day off afterwards so you can rest up.” 

_ Here goes, _ Geno thinks to himself. “I mean with you and me.” 

Sid frowns and closes the dishwasher with his foot. “What do you mean?”

“What we do after connection is broken?”

Biting his lip, Sid looks away. “Say goodbye, I guess.” 

Whatever he expected Sid to say, this wasn’t it. “Goodbye?” 

“After the breaking, I’m done here, so yeah, goodbye.” Sid shrugs and Geno’s throat burns. 

He swallows heavily and tightens his hold of the counter. “Why we can’t keep being together?” 

Sid frowns again. “Why would we?”

“Because I’m in love with you, and you also in love with me?” It comes out as a question, but Geno doesn’t mean it that way. 

Sid stares at him, which isn’t the reaction to those words Geno wanted at all. “Geno…”

“Why we say goodbye if we in love?” Geno continues, stumbling over the words slightly because they come out too fast. 

“Geno,” Sid says again. “I’m not in love with you.”

Everything that was a chaotic mess in his head before screeches to a halt, a complete standstill. He stares at Sid, a hysterical part of his brain trying to find some indication that this is all a sick joke. Sid can’t possibly _ mean__— _

“Geno,” Sid says again. “I’m sorry, but that’s not what this is about.” 

Jerking back to the rumbling of the dishwasher and the straining ache in his hand, Geno lets go of the counter and nods. He needs to get out of here. “Okay. I’m misunderstand everything.” 

His voice comes out shaky, a bit too quiet to sound self-assured. His chest aches as though it’s about to cave in on itself and he can’t quite wipe the shock from his face. Sid must be able to tell, but in a few days, that won’t matter anyway.

“I go upstairs,” he says when Sid opens his mouth. “Tired.”

He stands in the doorway to the master bedroom for a long moment, staring at the bed. They had sex there just this morning and everything seemed fine then. He was so sure Sid felt the same way he does. Now, it’s like he can’t trust his own instincts anymore.

“Hey,” Sid says behind him, making him jump. “Are you okay? Should we talk about this?”

Swallowing fiercely, Geno shakes his head. “No.”

He grabs his usual pillow from the bed and some of his clothes from the closet. Sid is still standing there, watching him, when he comes back out. 

“I sleep in guest room,” Geno says and squeezes past him.

“G…” Sid ventures, looking lost. 

“Not call me that,” Geno manages, throat feeling tight. Sid calling him G, like a pet name of sorts, used to make him all fuzzy and warm inside, but right now it’s a punch to the gut. 

“I feel like we should talk about this,” Sid says again, trailing after him. 

He’s right, of course. It’s not like they can stick their heads in the sand and pretend like nothing’s happening. Just...not right now. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay, we’ll talk after the game,” Sid says. 

“Okay.” 

He lies awake for a long time, staring at the closed door. A part of him wishes he hadn’t said anything. That way he could still pretend. But the heartbreak would’ve been even worse if he assumed they’d start something real after the connection was broken, and Sid packed up his bags and left. 

_ It’s better this way, _ he tells himself. He’s healed from a divorce, he can heal from this too. He’s barely known Sid for six months. It’ll pass. It always does. 

He finally falls asleep sometime after two a.m. even though his chest still hurts. When he wakes a few hours later, he’s still groggy and exhausted, as though he’s merely closed his eyes for a second. 

_ Game day. _

Going downstairs for breakfast, he hurries past the door to the master bedroom. With a bit of luck, Sid will sleep in and they don’t have to make stiff small talk before Geno leaves for the arena. 

He makes scrambled eggs, too-bitter tea and a fruit plate that’s maybe a bit excessive. It’s better than fishing out the chocolate bars at the back of the pantry, where he’s hidden them from Sid’s sweet tooth. 

Closing his eyes, he breathes through the sudden rush of pain. 

_ Sid. _

He can’t think of that now. He has a game to play. 

Just as he’s about to get up and put away the dirty dishes a while later, Sid shows up in the kitchen doorway. He looks soft and sleep-rumpled. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. He’s in a t-shirt and underwear, unusual for him, since he always eats breakfast in the nude. 

“Hi,” Geno says and rinses his hands in the sink, even though he’s already done that. “I leave some fruit in fridge you can take if you want.”

Sid’s gives him a small, hopeful smile. “Thank you.” 

“I leave in hour maybe, so I go get my suit from closet. I forget yesterday.” 

“Are you angry with me?” Sid asks, his smile fading. 

“No.” Geno sighs. “Of course I’m not angry. Have nothing to be angry for. Just hurt.” 

“Can we talk about this?” Sid says, his eyes big and pleading. 

“After game.” Geno looks away. “Have to play good game and not want for be distracted.”

He doesn’t play a good game, though. He’s frustrated and angry and it shows. Sully yells at him during the first intermission to stop playing dirty, but even though he tries, Geno can’t stop himself during the second intermission when his fuse goes off. He high-sticks Dubinsky in the face and slashes Wilson, and spends way too many minutes in the box. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he, during the third period, is on his way back to the bench, nowhere near the puck and he’s suddenly smacked right into the boards from behind. There’s a second hit and everything goes black. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s somewhere distantly familiar. The dirt floor under his feet smells damp and the air is stale. The soft lighting casts a glow over the rows upon rows of wine racks, all his favorite brands.

_ Right, _ he thinks. _ A good wine for dinner. _

They’re waiting for him upstairs, but he promised to pick something rare. He walks further into the room, light filtering through the wooden ceiling. People are dining up there. His friends. 

“Hey, find something?” 

Looking over his shoulder, Sid is standing there. Something small aches behind his breastbone, but he can’t pinpoint what or why. 

“Try find some good wine,” he says and gestures around the room. “Lots for choose from.” 

“Yeah.” Sid walks over to him, his gaze dark. “I’m glad I found you.” 

Geno frowns. “I’m just gone maybe two minute.” 

“I know.” Sid smiles. “I wanted some time alone with you.” 

Then he crowds Geno against the stone pillar behind him and kisses him hard. He tastes weird, almost stale, but it must be something he just ate. Whatever that was. Geno can’t remember, because Sid’s mouth is demanding and unyielding against his own. 

Pulling away to catch his breath, Geno raises an eyebrow. “You come find me for make out?” 

“Something wrong with that?” Sid moves in again, the hard line of his body forcing Geno back against the pillar again and the stone digs into his back. 

Sid kisses the breath out of him, quite literally, and he has to pull away again to catch his breath and to rub his back where it aches from the pillar. 

“I want you,” Sid says, fingers finding the button to Geno’s jeans. 

“Here?” Geno asks, bewildered. 

“Why not?” Sid licks his lips. 

_ Yeah, why not? _

He nods and pulls at the hem of Sid’s t-shirt. “Okay, but you take off too.”

“Why?” Sid prompts. “You know what I look like.” 

He does but… “I like see you.” 

There’s a brief look of annoyance on Sid’s face, but it’s gone before Geno can ask about it. Instead he pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. Taking in the pale stretch of his torso, Geno’s mouth goes dry. He’s so fucking lucky. 

“Look so good,” he says. 

“Do you want me?” Sid asks, moving in closer and he grabs Geno’s hips, his fingers digging into his sides almost painfully. 

Instead of answering, Geno kisses him, expecting him to go soft and almost pliant like he always does, but Sid’s mouth is demanding, leaving his lips raw and aching. 

A voice at the back of his mind whispers that something’s wrong here. When he pulls back again to catch his breath, feeling lightheaded as though he’s about to faint, his gaze sticks to Sid’s naked torso. There’s something missing there, he just knows it. 

“What?” Sid snaps. 

“Just like how you look,” he says and his throat is dry like sandpaper. 

“Don’t you want me?” Sid asks, moving in on him again and it takes everything for Geno to not back away. His skin crawls. 

He needs to get out of here. 

“You think people ask where we are?” he manages, his heart beating fast. 

“Why would they?”

“We gone for long time. They wait for wine.” 

“So?”

Geno swallows. “They come look. It’s not good if they come down when we have sex.” 

Sid rolls his eyes as though Geno is the most annoying person in the universe. “What do you propose we do?”

“Maybe you go upstairs, say I’m look for more wine? Then come back?” 

“You’re _ so__—_” Sid shakes his head, clearly pissed off. “Fine. I’ll be back to get you.”

Geno shivers. 

“I wait.” 

Sid grabs his shirt from the floor and disappears. A door bangs a moment later and the air is breathable again. Letting out a shuddering breath, Geno looks around for another way out. The lights have dimmed now and it’s difficult to see anything. 

_ Don’t panic, _ he thinks to himself. 

A second later, Sid shows up next to him and grabs his arm. Geno jumps, jerking his arm free before he can stop himself. 

“Sorry,” Sid says and glances in the direction of the door. “Are you okay?”

“You so fast,” Geno says to buy himself some time. 

“It took me forever,” Sid says, frowning. 

“You leave literally just second ago,” Geno disagrees. 

“G,” Sid says and his frown deepens. 

Something clicks into place at the back of his mind and Geno reaches out to steady himself against the pillar. _ G. _ Only Sid calls him that. 

He reaches out, desperately pulling at Sid’s t-shirt until it reveals the black ink of his tattoos. 

“We need to go,” Sid says. “Now.”

“Can’t know is you,” Geno says and his hands are shaking. Maybe this is just another version of Sid. A better one. 

“Look at me,” Sid says and grasps his hands, steadying them in his own. “Do you remember that you’re angry with me? That I hurt you?” 

He does...he _ does _ remember. The pain soars to the surface and Geno gasps, knees buckling but he manages to stay upright. 

“There you go,” Sid says and his voice is so soft. “I’m so glad I found you in time. But we need to go.” 

“How I know is you?” Geno questions. 

Sid squeezes his hands gently. “I told you that I’m not in love with you, and I hurt you when I said that. I wanted to talk to you this morning, because I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

Closing his eyes, Geno shakes his head. “You not have to be sorry for not love me back.”

“But I do,” Sid whispers. “I just didn’t realize.” 

When Geno opens his eyes again, Sid is staring up at him. 

“I know it’s hard to trust me right now, but we need to go.” He jerks, looking over towards the other end of the room and his face stiffens into a hard masque. “We’re out of time.” 

From the other end of the cellar, the other Sid leaves the shadows. It’s easy now to tell that there are a lot of things that aren’t right with him. His hair is too light, his nose too big, his voice shrill when he says,

“I didn’t expect you here.”

Then his skin seems to melt, dripping off his face and his body like wax from a candle. 

“G,” Sid says, his voice dangerously calm. “Run.” 

“Can’t leave you,” Geno protests. 

“Yes you can.” Sid rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck. “I’ll find you. _ Run_.” 

The edge to his voice makes Geno take off. He rushes through the racks of wine, toppling one over behind him to make it harder for whatever it is to chase after him. Just as he reaches the staircase, there’s a loud crash and a yell that’s so unmistakably Sid’s that he almost turns back. 

_ I’ll find you. _

He has to get out of here. Taking two steps at a time, Geno looks behind him one last time, but the cellar is filled with dust and smoke, and he can’t see Sid. He shoulders the cellar door open, the sharp light from the restaurant hitting his face. 

With a shout, he bolts upright. There’s Flower, Sully, Gonch and Mario. In the corner sits Sanya, staring at him. 

“Sid,” Geno breathes, twisting around in bed. 

Next to him, pale and glistening with sweat, lies Sid. He’s motionless and his hand limp as Geno takes it in his, cupping Sid’s face with his other. 

“Sid,” he whispers, desperate for a response. “Everything okay now.”

Sid’s head lolls to the side. 

“Come back.” Geno swallows, his mouth dry and his chest burning. The back of his mind is empty, the connection missing like an echo. “Please. I’m here, wait for you.”

Nothing. 

Sid’s still breathing, although it’s faint. With Geno’s rush of panic comes the anger. 

“You say you find me,” he manages, punching the mattress and rests his forehead against Sid’s chest to hide his tears. _ “Come back.” _

He lies there for god knows how long, until there’s movement behind him and Gonch says, “Geno, I think—”

“No!” he spits, knitting his fingers into the hem of Sid’s t-shirt, the awful one with the squirrel that Geno thought was cool ten years ago. “He say he find me and I wait for him.” 

This time Flower starts to say something, but someone shushes him.

Geno listens to Sid’s faint breaths and the tired beats of his heart. This can’t be it. It _ can’t. _

“Baby,” he whispers and squeezes his eyes closed. “Don’t leave me.” 

Perhaps he’s dreaming, he has to be, but he recognizes the barely-there touch over his hair so well. 

He holds his breath, but the fingers in his hair are still there, stroking down over his neck and then back up again. 

“G,” Sid whispers. 

Looking up, Geno finds Sid watching him. He’s awfully pale and damp from sweat all over, his lips almost blue. 

“Sid,” Geno croaks and gets up on his knees, cupping Sid’s face in his hands. 

“I found you,” Sid manages with a faint smile. 

“You find me,” Geno agrees, his heart beating too fast and too hard. “Why I can’t feel you?”

Sid coughs and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. Geno helps him drink, watching as Sid closes his eyes briefly and then opens them again, they’re a familiar bright hazel. 

“I burned everything I had to get back here,” Sid says. “I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“Can find other job,” Geno says and his chest tightens when Sid smiles as his eyes are falling. 

“Got any openings?” 

“We find something.” He strokes Sid’s hair. “We get you doctor, make sure you okay.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Sid mumbles. “I’m not worried.”

But Geno is. 

Mario gets them a doctor within ten minutes who works under strict orders to keep everything discreet. As it turns out, Sid’s exhausted in the medical sense and he’s ordered lots of bedrest and is put on IV for nutrition and fluids. 

Geno can’t find it in him to concentrate on hockey enough to play games. He sits by the bed until Sid is well enough to keep conversation for longer than ten minutes at a time without falling asleep. The connection from whatever he made an agreement with is so clearly gone. It’s as though a shadow that’s been following him for months has finally disappeared. 

One morning, two weeks after the break, Sid shows up in the kitchen when Geno eats breakfast. He’s nude and Geno can’t help but smile. 

“Can I have some?” Sid asks, eyeing the plate of bacon on the counter. 

“Can have all you want.” Geno wants to reach out and kiss him, but he isn’t sure how to interpret what Sid said in the wine cellar. _ In the slip. _They haven’t really had a chance to talk about it and he hasn’t wanted to add more pressure to Sid’s recovery. “Glad you up and walk around.” 

“Me too,” Sid says and meets his gaze over the counter. “I’m glad we both made it out.” 

“How you find me?” Geno asks. “Sorry if you not want we talk about this.” 

“It’s fine.” Sid drags the entire plate of bacon towards himself and fills a mug with coffee. “I remember you mentioning where you made the deal and that Radulov was with you. When I realized that you were in an unconscious slip, I made them call him to find out exactly where this place is. I figure they wanted to make a final attempt and it’s always stronger when they go back to where it all started. Did you know that building used to be a very old church before communism tore it down? The cellar remained and they built a restaurant on top of it. No wonder your connection was so powerful.” 

“You said you not think you find me on time if I slip when I’m unconscious.” 

“Yeah.” Sid chews a strip of bacon slowly. “I don’t think I would have if I didn’t feel the way I do.”

“What you feel for me?” Geno asks. 

“I told you when I came to get you,” Sid says. 

“Not explicit.” Geno looks down at his empty tea mug. “I’m so hurt when you say you not love me back. I’m need to hear you say.” 

Sid walks around the counter, stopping next to the barstool Geno’s sitting on and takes his hand. Looking up, the faint remains of hurt that’s lingered ever since that day slowly fades. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Sid says. “I really thought I didn’t feel that way for you. I knew I liked you a lot, that you matter to me more than anyone I can think of, but I couldn’t put words to it. Then you slept in the guestroom and I couldn’t sleep at all. The idea of leaving after breaking your connection made me sick. I wanted to lie and postpone it, but I knew that wasn’t okay. I wanted to talk to you that morning, remember? But you didn’t want to and I didn’t want to mess up your game. Then you got knocked out on the ice and I knew I didn’t have long. I’ve loved you for months, but I didn’t realize that’s what it was until then.” 

Geno squeezes his fingers, his throat too tight to speak. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Sid says.

“Just glad you realize,” Geno manages.

“Kiss me,” Sid says suddenly. “Please.”

Geno kisses him slow and gentle, and Sid melts into him. Pulling him close, Geno presses his face against Sid’s neck, breathing him in. “Please stay. Here. With me.” 

“Where else would I go? This is my home.” 

Geno kisses him again, as hard as he dares considering Sid’s health scare. When he straightens, he meets Sid’s gaze before he trails the lines of his tattoos over his chest and stomach. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them before, but if Sid didn’t have them, he might’ve never understood that he was being tricked in the slip. 

“Do you think I can find out who I was before this?” Sid asks. His gaze is uncertain when Geno looks up. 

“You want?”

“I think so.” Sid swallows. “Before I met you, I didn’t realize there was something I was missing. Now I know, and it’s frustrating to see where the pieces are missing.” 

“I help. Maybe it take a month, maybe it take ten year, but we find out,” Geno promises and kisses him again. 

Sid smiles against his lips. “Thank you.” 

+

They don’t go to Russia that summer. Geno works out in Pittsburgh and he manages to drag Sid with him to Miami for two weeks, even though he hates the heat. He looks incredible with a tan, though, and Geno’s had a hard time keeping his hands to himself ever since Sid got well enough for sex again. It’s not like Sid has complained, though, because he’s been more than eager whenever they’ve had a moment to themselves. 

It’s late July when Geno gets home after a rough work out that he finds Sid sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at the screen of Geno’s laptop. 

“You ready for go skate in little bit?” Geno asks and dumps his bag on the floor. When Sid doesn’t respond, Geno takes in the tense set of his shoulders and untouched plate of food next to him on the counter. 

“Something wrong?” Geno asks. 

“Is this me?” Sid asks, his voice shaking. “It can’t be, right? I’m just imagining things.” 

Geno doesn’t get what he’s talking about, until Sid turns the laptop around. The headline says: **MISSING PERSON**

**SIDNEY CROSBY**

**MISSING SINCE AUGUST 25, 2005**

**COLE HARBOUR, NOVA SCOTIA**

There’s a bunch of information that Geno can’t take in, because he’s staring at the photos. They’re of a young, round cheeked teenager, but unmistakably Sid. They have the same squint to their eyes, the same full lips, the same dark curls. 

“There’s a number you can call,” Sid says. 

“You want to?”

Sid reaches for him, eyes big and vulnerable, and Geno wraps him up as hard as he can. 

“Maybe tomorrow,” Sid whispers. 

“Okay,” Geno says and kisses his hair. “We call tomorrow.” 

“What if I don’t want to call tomorrow?” Sid asks, face buried in Geno’s shirt. 

“Then we not call tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” Sid breathes in against his chest. “Okay.” 

Maybe he’ll need another week before he makes the call, or another year. Maybe they’re both blind and this isn’t even him. Maybe it is and there’s an entire family for him to reconnect to. Whatever happens, they’ll figure it out. 

**THE END**


End file.
